


Hangman, Hangman, Hold it a Little While

by ByelingualBH (ByeBH)



Series: Fixing Canon, Breaking Barriers, TFB [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Angst, Conflict, Dumbass Destiel, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Binary Jack Kline, Occasional Crack, Polyamorous Character, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Sam Winchester has Lesbian panik, Supernatural but there's actual representation, and they get one, defenestration of canon, non-blurry wife sorry fu dabb, part 2 of a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByeBH/pseuds/ByelingualBH
Summary: Revamping Heaven came with its complications.--------------In which the Winchesters refuse to give up their little piece of heaven, Jack fumbles his way through Godhood and Castiel just can’t catch a break.Or, the Breaking of the Fix-It.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak/Original Female Character
Series: Fixing Canon, Breaking Barriers, TFB [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022319
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Knock knock. Who's there?  
> The- The Who?  
> The actual punchline: The sadist who couldn't let the boys be.
> 
> There will be gay. There will be blood. (not together)  
> And it shall be good.
> 
> I raised the rating for this work because Destiel porn is good for the soul. I'll give it to you eventually; I'm just mastering the art of gay sex right now. For the fic, obviously.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> P.S. Title from Zeppelin's Gallows Pole.

Castiel pushed his fingers deeper into the barrier, trying to figure out what seemed to be probing it from the other side. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and tried to concentrate more. His grace extended out of his fingers, seeping through the barrier.

_Nothing._

Not for the first time, he wondered if Jack’s decision to limit the angels’ abilities was truly wise. After millennia of existing as they had, the sudden and drastic changes brought by a God who, for all intents and purposes, was an infant, left a lot of space for mutinous plots. Cas had been keeping an eye on Naomi, just for that reason. Sue him, he held a grudge. Especially since he never received the apology that he had essentially demanded from her for torturing him and stealing his memories.

_**Cas, any luck this time?** _

Cas pulled his fingers back, wincing as the grace inside the barrier stretched between them. Breathing in deeply, he prayed.

_**I’m sorry, Jack. But I still don’t sense anything in the portal. I don’t understand how the breach is happening. I sense no presence inside the portal itself.** _

He waved away Jack’s consolation as he raised his wings, pushing off to head to the Garden.

He concentrated on where he could feel Hannah’s essence, still greatly diminished. Israfil leaned over Hannah’s form, fingers braced against her temples. Her dark fingers emphasized the pale and sickly pallor of Hannah’s face. Quietly, unwilling to disrupt her ministrations, Castiel folded his legs and sat across from the healer. He smiled at the quiet symphony she was humming under her breath, eyes closed, a crease of annoyance marring her forehead.

A few breaths later, she pulled away, pale wisps of her grace retreating from Hannah’s sleeping form. She smiled up at her brother.

“She’s getting better, Castiel. Her grace may be diminished and weak, but I sense a stirring in her consciousness.”

Cas moved his fingers up to the short, dark hair crowning Hannah’s new vessel. As he carded his palm through the stiff, short strands, he felt the change. Hannah was aware of her surroundings . . . she just wasn’t engaging yet. 

“I still don’t understand what happened. Why her, Isra? Among all whom the Empty was punishing . . .” he heaved a sigh. This was his fault. Their fault. The bomb had awoken the residents of the Empty. The surprise Castiel had experienced after being pulled into the Empty and realizing it was not longer quite as empty was indescribable. He remembered being pulled into a hug by a rambunctious Gabriel.

_Ah, there’s the Winchester variable. Come on, Cassie, let’s yeet this bitch off its stupid throne._

It was a skirmish that he had walked into, and he couldn’t complain. He was a warrior, and as much as an eternity of sleep enticed him, a chance to defeat the most annoying Cosmic Entity he knew of was . . . exhilarating.

Until they had lost, overpowered by the combined power of the other three archangels and the Empty. And the demons, of course, because logic be damned, demons and angels could never be on the same side.

Then there was pain and fire coursing through his very being. And then arms and wings surrounding him: _It’s okay, Cas. Let’s get you home. I’m here now._

He vividly remembered the Empty’s enraged screams. The next thing he was aware of was the soft grass of the Garden underneath him and the perfume of the flora that formed a canopy over his prone form.

“Cas, no one could have foreseen the desperation the Empty exhibited. The Empty was always a cowardly, selfish being . . . and the very fact that its lust for power outweighed its self-preservation was uncharacteristic. Perhaps Billie had muddled its brain too much.”

“I sincerely hope Billie was the only one who had to face the Empty’s frustration. It may be deemed unangelic of me . . . but everyday, I pray that they receive the brunt of the torture after the Empty heals itself.”

Israfil crossed her legs and sat down beside him, an odd grin on her face, “You’re no stranger to being called unangelic, brother. But you must realize that that is a compliment and not an aspersion.”

Cas huffed lightly, eyes drawn to the unkempt facial hair on Hannah’s face. He touched her wrist, letting his grace trim the beard into a neater form. Isra slapped his wrist gently in silent recrimination.

_Yeah, yeah. Jack’s new rules. He was no stranger to violating Heavenly rules, either._

“You should head on home to your hunter,” Isra said, resuming her soft humming.

“I suppose . . . what are you singing? It’s very pleasing to the ear,” Cas inquired as he pushed up to his feet.

“It’s a human song . . . I knew the woman who wrote it. Celine Dion. I cannot recall the words but I find the melody beautiful.”

_Celine Dion._ Castiel made a mental notation, wondering why Dean had never introduced her music to him back when he allowed Cas to explore the softer tunes on his phone.

*****

“Mmmmh, hey angel,” Dean mumbled, as he arched against Castiel’s lips at his hairline. “G’morning.”

“Good morning, Dean,” he smiled. It was a strange sentiment, but death suited Dean Winchester. His eyes were brighter, the crows’ feet adorning his eyes deepened. Dean’s movements seemed sinuous, his gait lighter and his smile less shy to make an appearance. His hair was slightly longer, cascading over his forehead, and Castiel blushed as he remembered precisely why Dean was growing it out. “Sammy ‘n Deanna wanna catch a movie today. Think you’re off the hook long enough to join us?”

Cas hummed contemplatively. “I don’t want to infringe upon your ‘bro-time’, Dean.”

Dean finally looked at him, squinting up at him with sleep-heavy eyes. “You callin’ my niece a dude, Feathers?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “No. Fine, point taken. I would love to accompany you. How is Deanna adjusting? Did she break more furniture in her frustration with her grandfather?”

Deanna Winchester and John Winchester were not getting along. Castiel was, unequivocally, on her side in her inherent hatred of the man who had neglected and abused her father and uncle. Unfortunately for Mary’s coffee table, Deanna has inherited her uncle’s predilection to punch and break things in anger.

“I think John still isn’t letting her into his house. Oh, that reminds me . . . they had a fight again, so Mom’s comin’ over tonight.”

Castiel could feel the guilt rolling off his hunter as he informed him so. “Dean,” he gently cupped his chin and stroked his thumb across Dean’s unshaven skin. “John’s unpleasantry is in no way your fault. Are you saying a mother fighting for her son’s right to love whoever he wants is a bad thing?”

“No, no, Cas. That homophobic fuckhead can get fucked by Alistair’s razor,” Dean grunted through clenched teeth. Cas blinked, somehow still surprised by Dean’s vehement but new disdain for John. “But part of me feels like I destroyed her marriage. Before all this, she got pissed at him a lot, yeah, but I swear she’s gonna leave him one of these days.”

Cas sat back on his haunches. “Good.”

Dean blinked at him in bemusement. Cas stared into his eyes, unwilling to relent, “Mary deserves better. At least now she knows that John is no longer the man she fell in love with. And there is nothing salvageable with his soul. The only reason he’s here is because Jack refuses to throw down any soul, that resided here before his arrival, into Hell.”

Dean heaved a huge breath and looked away first. Sam was correct in his claim that Castiel would win any ‘staring matches’ that they decide to partake in.

“I made Karen’s lasagna last night. Want some?” Dean offered. Cas smiled in affirmation and allowed himself to be tugged down to their kitchen.

“Look at me, feeding you and fucking you whenever you come home from work. I never thought I’d be the battered housewife in this scenario,” Dean grumbled as he poked a fork through the top of the aluminum tin.

“Neither of us qualifies as a wife _or_ battered, Dean,” Cas frowned at the implication. In response, Dean grinned and pulled his t-shirt up to bare his torso. Cas rolled his eyes, “You said you liked it.”

“Yeah, sure. But I’m just sayin’ that anyone who doesn’t know what a kinky feather-duster you are is gonna think you’re into pain-play or something, babe,” Dean grinned, wiggling his eyebrows as he ran a hand over his own skin, stroking at the trail of hair under his navel.

“I’m not kinky, and we _do not_ have time to engage in coi–” he caught the narrowing of Dean’s eyes and hastily corrected himself. “um, to fuck.”

“Oh yeah, Cas, say more bad words, you dirty angel,” Dean moaned in mock-arousal. Or perhaps real arousal, but Castiel knew that line of thinking would only lead to tardiness. 

“Dean.”

The man in question pouted.

“Just a quickie in the shower?”

“No.”

“That’s not fair, ya know? The wife’s the one who gets to hold sex as hostage.”

“You _are not the wife_. Neither of us is the wife. This is the stupidest argument of my existence.”

Cas drew in a deep breath. It wasn’t fair to take out his frustrations on Dean, who had been nothing if not supportive. Cas knew that his frequent departures to aid the rebuilding was equally vexing to Dean, and yet he never complained. He went a step further and acted as Cas’s steadfast confidant. “I’m sorry, I’m just drained,” Cas mumbled, looking down to his lap in shame. He felt Dean walk closer to him and quietly set down a plate before him. He felt calloused fingers cup the side of his face and Dean’s lips at his hairline as he pulled Castiel into his arms. Cas closed his eyes, burying his face against his sternum and inhaling the scent of leather and wood polish. He felt his wings droop in relaxation, and his back relaxing with them. After a few casual strokes against his scalp, he felt Dean’s chest rumble as he hummed deeply, squeezing Cas against him briefly before letting go.

Cas looked up at him, meeting his gaze. 

_Better?_

_Yes, Dean._

“I’m thinking today’s a ‘Finding Dory’ kinda day. How’s that?” Dean crooned. 

“Yeah. That’s good,” Cas whispered, eternally grateful for whatever deemed him worthy of Dean Winchester’s unconditional love.

*****

Dean rolled onto his back and then immediately decided against it, rolling towards Cas and putting his hands back on his angel. Cas’s eyes were closed, a sheen of sweat across his tan skin, making him gleam in the moonlight. Dean stroked his fingers along his sternum and Cas shivered delightfully, arching his neck and letting out a soft moan. Dean smiled, leaning close and nuzzling along the line of his throat.

“ _Dean_ , I’m,” he started, voice slurring and Dean hushed him gently. He knew Cas was fucking tired to hell and back, and he may not be able to help him in his angel shit, but this? This he could do. He could take care of his angel. “I got you, Sunshine.”

“No, I-I’m exhausted, beloved. I think I just want to rest for the night,” Cas whispered, drooping blue eyes piercing. Dean quirked an eyebrow, “Damn, you must be spent to refuse this.” He dramatically gestured at himself and yes, humped Cas’s thigh because _dem thighs_. He can take care of his angel _and_ make him laugh. 

He pulled Cas onto his chest, holding still till he relocated to his little heart’s content. After a few breaths, he heard the telltale sigh, and knew Cas was okay for the night.

As much as Dean loved the new Heaven, he was pissed that he had to put up with bullshit. Sure, he’d probably die of boredom if it was utopic like the last Heaven, but still . . .

With John Winchester came Dean’s inferiority complex.

With Jack and his revolutionary ideas came invaders trying to get into Heaven. 

Used to be, Johnnie and Jack and a dirty glass to make Dean forget all his problems.

A few fruitless hours of insomnia passed and Cas let out a tired groan, rolling off Dean and taking the covers with him. _Well, guess that settles it_. He rolled out of bed and made his way downstairs.

He’d built this house from scratch, albeit with some badass Jedi mind tricks, but he’d made everything in here himself so it’d be perfect for him and Cas and Sammy (whenever he pissed off Eileen) and now, Deanna (when she threw a bitchfit ~~daily~~ ).

*****

A week ago, Sam and Eileen had suddenly paused heckling at the masterpiece that was Die Hard (because he let heathens into his home). Dean looked over to Cas, and Cas had done his _angel mode activation routine_. Then he’d smiled and disappeared which, _son of a bitch_.

Saileen came out of their weird Vulcan haze and jumped up, running out the door and screaming at Dean to follow. Now, Dean Winchester had been a hunter _literally_ his entire life. And that totally justified why he showed up armed to his teeth to meet his niece.

Deanna was fucking bamf. She and Dean immediately hit it off because:-

  * Kid had rebuilt Baby’s cassette player so she could play Uncle Dean’s tapes when she brought back chicks to bang in the car.



Okay, that was TMI for Dean and his brain had to do a hard reset but then:-

  * Kid _played Uncle Dean’s tapes in the car_.  

  * She’d taken one look at Dean’s pitiful signing and declared he was her Padawan.  

  * The first thing she said? “Well fuck.” And Sam had bitchfaced so beautifully Dean had shed a tear.  

  * Leather jacket and a knife holster. Sammy’s kid was a badass.  

  * Sammy’s kid was nothing like Sammy.  

  * Sammy’s kid was exactly like Dean because she stabbed Cas in the thigh as he flapped into existence behind her, which, _hah_. Karma bitch.  




In short, Deanna was fucking bamf.

*****

Deanna was gonna eat him out of his house and home.

“ _Again?_ Seriously?” Dean moaned, staring at the dirty dishes and the scraps of food littering his beautiful kitchen. “The hell did you do this time?”

“Hey, no judgement. It’s your fault for welcoming me into your home,” she sassed before taking a massive bite of her stacked hot dog, toppings falling onto her shirt and the floor and the counter in a horrific torrent.

“You’re cleaning this shit up,” Dean threatened. Kid put her monstrosity down and raised an eyebrow at him. Dean groaned, “Fine, blink it outta existence, whatever.”

“Deal. Wanna comb my hair and we can talk about our boo-boos?”

“What makes you think I have a boo-boo?” Dean walked over to the fridge, pulling out the milk and the cocoa powder and setting them on the counter. _Far_ away from Deanna’s mess.

She dove back in and Dean winced at the squelching bread, “Insomnia’s a boo-boo. I’m talking about why you’ve been all TLC in _and_ on Cas’s ass since yesterday.”

Dean winced for a different reason this time, “He’s your uncle, come on. That’s gross.”

“I’m sex-positive,” she snarked.

“And I’m uncomfortable with this conversation,” Dean hissed as his finger skimmed against the hot pan.

“Ugh, fine. Is he okay? Are you in the doghouse? What’s happening?” 

Dean tipped more cocoa than was probably healthy into the milk. But fuck it, not like he could get flabby in heaven. (He’d totally manifested a toned stomach in the bathroom the other day, but Cas loved it so he wasn’t even ashamed.)

“He’s . . . he’s tired, I guess. Overworked and stressed as fuck,” he stirred with passion because lumps were for amateurs.

“Bang him.”

Startled, he knocked his fingers against the hot pan and hissed, barely catching the cocoa from tipping all over his floor. “Fucking hell, kid. What did I _just_ say?”

“Hey, I’m just providing modern solutions to your modern problems in a very modern interspecies queer relationship. Oh, can you make me some?!”

“Couldn’t have asked when I started making this?”

“I didn’t want it then.”

Dean swore under his breath. How was it that Sam got a kid and _Dean_ got the parent curse? He carefully measured out another serving and added it to his pan before mumbling, “Yeah.”

He saw her gob flap open and jumped, “No follow ups.”

She started pouting. “Fine, prude. You talked to Jack about getting him some off time?”

“Said he offered. Cas said _nyet_. What with the barrier breach n’ shit.”

“Right. The inter-dimensional mystery portal of doom which Jack though was a great idea.”

Dean sighed. He knew Cas had qualms about a lot of Jack’s ideas. Heck, he’d sat there in shock the first time Cas had exploded, ranting about Jack’s irrational policies this, careless resurrections that. It was like a bizarre switcheroo with Dean talking Cas down from strangling Jack. 

“Don’t you start.” He plopped down a glass before her and took a seat across, on the cleaner side. “Look, he’s got the right intentions, and that’s a great start, okay? He may make mistakes ‘coz there’s no manual on How To God while dealing with angelic brats. But he’ll fix them. And if he can’t we’re here for him. Cas is just anxious.”

“Seriously?! They’re still being bitchy about the whole fledglings thing?”

“I know, right?” he took a sip. _Perfect_. “Thought they’d be more pissed about the depowering but nope. They just don’t wanna babysit the cupid club that was spawned from their own grace.”

“Genius, though.”

Dean grinned. Jack did solve Heaven’s repopulation problem with a bitchslap to their dicks. Expanding angelic grace harvested from individual angels served to dual purpose of bonding angels to their kids and keeping said angels in check by permanently harvesting parts of their grace.

“Hey,” Dean broached tentatively. “Did Cas, like, mention anything? About whether he has any kids in that batch?”

Deanna cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why’d he tell me?”

“I dunno. You’re sex-positive,” he parroted back at he. _Take that. Padawan, my sweet, sweet ass._

“Yes, I am. And no, he didn’t. And even if he did, I’m not gonna tell you. If he hasn’t told you yet, he probably has a good reason.”

Dean pouted.

These psychologists were no fun, with all their confidentiality and morals and _mind tricks_.

“Dad said you went Dory once,” she chimed, apropos of nothing. “And then all I took a nap after we watched the movie and I dreamed of like, a _derp_ face picture of you on the animated fish and Ellen screaming your catchphrase and flirting with Cas. Cas was a seahorse.”

Dean blinked. “Ah, so you got _some_ of Sammy’s DNA in that noggin.”

“Fuck you, Dad _dreams_ of making masterpieces like my brain does.”

“You call that a masterpiece, I’d hate to see what you call crappy stick figures.”

“I should make that for like, our Christmas cards or something.”

Before Dean could present a mind-blowing counterargument, it dawned on him that it was November. Christmas, for real this time. Not organized by a psycho fanatical wood nymph.

_Eh, Mrs. Butters was pretty nice, though._

_That grilled cheeeeessse . . . . ._

“Thinking of Mrs. Butters?” Deanna finally popped the last bit of bread into her mouth and then started licking the underside of her forearms to clean away the salsa. Affixing a look of horror on her, Dean mumbled, “What, you psychic too?”

“Nah, I was just a fucking awesome psychologist.”

“Did you give Sammy free therapy first thing after you started working?”

“Hah, _no_! You don’t psychoanalyze your goddamn family. That’s when shit hits the fan and then gets splattered all over your fancy wallpaper.”

“Poetic.”

“Mm-hm. ’m a poet too.”

“Okay,” Dean heaved himself away from Deanna and her ablutions. “I’m going to cuddle the shit out of my angel. Psychoanalyze _that_.” He scurried off before she could snark back something that’d give him weird nightmares.

_The fuck were Sam and Eileen on when they conceived this one?_

*****

Dean would have butted out of the Cas-and-Jack-Heavenly-Pissing-Match had it not been for what happened the next evening.

Dean was trying to mend fences with John, quietly and secretly because he knew Sam would bitchface and Cas would go all righteous. But he was doing this for Mom. _One last try, and then you can fuck off to hell, you bigoted asshole_.

“So you’re telling me he could’ve switched to bein’ a chick anytime? And you knew this?”

_Well, for a given definition of ‘chick’._. Dean tried counting backwards. Dean tried deep breathing. Dean even tried to imagine Cas’s reaction that morning when he’d plated up the jam-filled cupcakes. That adorable bean.

“Okay, I can’t. I tried,” Dean declared, making to heave off the couch in Dad’s manly-man den with manly couches and manly wall-mounted animal heads and manly fucking guns. He would’ve succeeded too, had it not been for the 170 pounds of manly angel that appeared in his lap.

“Cas?!” Dean automatically encircled him in his arms, and Cas, who had been silent till then, let out a wail. Dean pulled his arms away in a panic, and Cas fell backwards. Dean made to catch him and then he saw his hands.

_That’s blood_.

His eyes shot back to Cas’s prone form on Dad’s manly rug and he let out a gasp of horror. Cas’s back was shredded. The flannel and shirt he’d stolen from Dean this morning was in ribbons, matted in blood and skin. Cas convulsed and let out a choked gasp of his name. And that propelled Dean back to reality.

“ _Dean_!” John? “Thank God. Grab his arms, I’ve got his legs. Heave ‘im up, boy.”

For the first time in weeks, Dean felt that sick pit in his stomach come to life. He grabbed Cas under his arms as John pulled him up from the other side. They dumped the angel onto the couch Dean had just vacated and John was off, “I’ll get the stuff.”

Dean realized he was in shock.

_Snap out of it._

The blood. Castiel’s blood. There was so much.

_Snap out of it. Cas needs help._

“Dean?” Cas gasped, voice trembling. Dean shot towards his angel, kneeling by his side and cupping the side of Cas’s face. Dazed and agonized blue eyes met his.

“Cas, sweetheart, I’m here. I’m with you. I’m gonna cut your shirt off now, okay?” Dean’s voice was shaking as bad as Cas’s. He waited for Cas’s eyes to clear up a bit before he asked, softening his voice as much as he could, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Nnnn,” Cas’s eyes closed, face paling.

_How much blood has he lost?_

“Baby, no,” he patted Cas’s cheek to try and get him back. “No, don’t go to sleep yet, okay? Can you heal yourself?”

“Mmh, no,” Cas moaned, arching off the couch in convulsions and then letting out a raw scream. Dean felt the world narrow a bit. 

“Dean! Get that shirt off him, boy!” John was back. He should’ve been worried he’d be too rough, but he didn’t stop John from pulling out his Swiss to hack off the blood-soaked clothes. Dean fumbled to get his own knife and followed. He was hacking through the collar, wrist against Cas’s sweaty nape when he felt Cas go limp. 

He dropped his knife onto the floor and cupped Cas’s face between his palms. _He’s out. Just passed out_.

“Cas, wake up,” he tried to bring some force into his tone, hoping to trigger the soldier in there. No luck. They finally got all the fiber off his back and Dean hissed a breath in through his teeth. This was bad. “Fuck.” He grabbed the bottle of good shit that John was extending and upended it over Cas’s back. _Jack. Jack, get your ass down here. It’s Cas. Cas is hurt._

He kept that mantra going as they silently cleaned and dressed the long lacerations spanning the entire length of his back. 

Jack never came.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm sorry._
> 
> **First:** Israfil humming was just a hint at her being the Angel of Music. My idea is that with the high demand-low supply, angels undertook responsibilities they deemed more important than their usual domains.
> 
>  **Second:** I don’t want Sam to have a son. That’s it. Deanna is just Dean in a woman’s body. Also, I may have fucked up this part, but I took the liberty to make Deanna a Hearing person, because Eileen lost her hearing from the banshee _after_ she was born. I AM NOT a Science kid though, so I plead the artistic license.
> 
>  **Third:** Dad Cas, but make him pissy. Why? You’ll just have to wait and see.
> 
> Anyways, that was may rationale. I hope this seems interesting to you guys. I’ll do my best to update chapters weekly, but I make no promises. I’m currently ahead of schedule, but I have finals coming up next week, so . . .
> 
> All errors are my own; this chapter is currently unbetaed. Leave a comment if you’re interested in beautifying or betaing this fic!
> 
> Take care :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff in [...] is ASL.
> 
> Bon Appétit!

Sam watched his brother watch Castiel. Then he looked at John, barely visible from he was hiding behind the door. He looked back at Castiel. Cas looked like he was in pain. Sam couldn’t see his face, which was turned towards Dean on the other side of the room, but he was still trembling.

Okay, here we go.

Clearing his throat, Sam tried, “Dean?”

Dean blinked slowly and then looked up towards him. “Yeah, Sammy?”

God, he sounded awful. Unbidden, Dean’s face when he’d pulled up after losing Cas that last time came to his mind. Dean looked worse. And Sam knew, logically, that this could be the shock. This could be because Dean thought that everyone he loved would be safe in Heaven. Sam did too.

The crap hit the fan with the weird power ripples two weeks ago. Cas had tried to explain it, and Dean had tried to lighten the mood with cheap Star Wars one-liners. That didn’t drown out the fact that Heaven’s security could be collapsing. Again.

Then Cas had put his foot down and refused to let the brothers help. That was a waste, honestly, because who better to turn to? No one had dealt with inter-dimensional crap as much as Sam and Dean. Literally no one. The angels tended to be narrow-visioned, and that’s their prerogative. But refusing a fresh set of eyes was just _stupid_ and rigid on Cas’s part.

And now this.

“You wanna talk about it?” he tried again.

“”Bout what, Sam?”

And then, surprising him, Dean raised his bloodshot eyes and looked at Sam head-on. “I already told you everything. I was tryna give John another shot. For Mom,” Sam opened his mouth to call out his bullshit. This was Dean going back to his helpless hero worship of John and nothing else. But Dean waved a hand at him, fixing him with a hard stare. “Don’t start. And I was done with his shit. I was just makin’ to leave,” and shock jolted Sam’s spine at that, “when Cas literally fell into my lap. John helped work on him. I kept praying to Jack, and he never showed.”

Dean let out a laugh, rubbing at his face. Sam looked him over, recognizing this side of his brother. Tired. Defeated. Verging on hopeless.

“I called on God, he never showed. Sound familiar?” Dean huffed.

“Dean, no.” No. That wasn’t Jack. “Jack is not Chuck, okay? He’ll turn up. And then we ask him where the hell he was. Together. Don’t blame him yet, okay?”

His brother sagged, reaching out and cupping Cas’s face. Sam looked away. As much as he loved seeing his brother be openly tactile, this was something else. Dean was terrified. Of not knowing what was wrong with Cas. Of not knowing when he’ll wake up.

“Okay, Sam.” He looked back at Dean. “Look, you head on back home. Send your rugrat over later, ‘kay?”

Yeah. Dean was right. His daughter was a million times better at dealing with people than he ever was. And Dean and Deanna had this instant bond, which Sam couldn’t help but think was inevitable. He headed out, catching a glimpse of John again.

There _was_ something he could do for his brother.

He approached John. The man looked up at him, expression unreadable, “Halo still out?”

Don’t react. Take a deep breath and step back. Dean doesn’t need this right now.

“Yeah, _Cas_ is still out. And I think we should leave now, give them space,” he barraged ahead, looking away to rein in his anger.

“Why, not like they’ll be fucking anytime soon. Unless ya’ll think _that_ shit is dandy too, now. They somnophiliacs?”

“I’m impressed you even know that word, you–” No. Breathe. Stop. Unable to articulate anymore, Sam just bodily removed John Winchester from the house, wishing he could remove him from that dimension altogether.

*****

[I ordered in again. I can’t concentrate right now, and I’m sure you can’t either.]

[Okay.] he signed back languidly before enveloping her in a hug.

“It’ll be okay. Cas will be awake by tomorrow and Jack will be back too, I promise,” Eileen said, arms wrapped around him as he buried his face against her. He nodded and pulled away. “Where’s Deanna?”

[Let’s go. I drew a bath and I know you’re almost done with that book.] she cracked a small smile as her hands moved with hypnotizing grace.

He nodded again, letting her pull him into their home.

His heart twisted when he saw Deanna sitting on the couch, curled up with her knees pulled to her chin. Looking at her then, Sam could almost forget that his kid had ever grown up. She looked at him and all Sam wanted to do was fix the world for her. “Is he okay?”

Sam sighed. “Cas? Or Dean?”

She looked away, rubbing her face in a tired manner that made his heart ache anew, “Both. Either.”

“Cas was still out. Dean did ask for you, though. So, he’s feeling up to company,” he shrugged. He got it, everyone was shaken up. The sudden insecurity that had swept over Heaven was disconcerting, to say the least. As much as they loved Cas, he knew a part of their current devastation came from the jarring dawn of reality. They may be done, but there wasn’t necessarily any peace.

“Okay. I’ll head over after dinner. I’ll spend the night there.”

“I’ll let Mom know,” Sam finally found the book he was looking for and stepped back. He cast another appreciative glance at the towering library that took up the entire wall. Sam could never afford that back on Earth, so the first thing he’d done was blink it into existence, endless teasing be damned. Dean had fallen flat on his ass laughing at whatever Sam’s face had been doing, but the kicker was this: even Cas had started giggling. Idiots. They really were perfect for each other. Or maybe Dean was rubbing off on Cas, which … yeah, he definitely was.

Oh, gross. Come on, brain.

The bath was perfect. Dean would probably call him a girl if he even got a whiff of Sam after his hour-long soak, but Dean wasn’t here. Sighing in contentment, he came up behind Eileen and rested his head on her shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile as she turned and pecked at his cheek.

[Deanna’s heading to Destiel’s for the night.] he wiggled his arms in front of her and signed lazily.

She hummed in acknowledgement. [You’ll walk her there after dinner?]

What.

He frowned, shaking his head against her cheek. [I think she’ll be okay by herself.]

[Sam.] she turned in the circle of his arms, pushing him back gently. [Do you know what got Cas?]

Slightly blindslided by the topic change, he shook his head in negation.

[So it could still be out there?]

Sam’s brain made an error noise and halted. He hadn’t even considered that this could be something non-angelic.

But he also knew Deanna.

He nodded briskly, looking down at the growing concern in her dark eyes. [But it’s a short walk from here to there. And she can handle herself.]

The urge to lug all their ammo and follow his daughter to her destination was stifling. But Deanna was a grown woman, even though her age of choice was the ‘fun and carefree’ twenties. He’d somehow spawned a mini Dean.

A flash of something crossed Eileen’s expression, gone too quickly for him to catch.

[You’re not worried about our child?]

Whoa.

He frowned, irritation bubbling in his chest.

No. This is just remnant stress from the evening. Don’t make this into a thing.

People assumed that his brother had the relationship with complications. And that Sam had a conflict-free, easy going marriage. And that wasn’t true. Sam and Eileen were both headstrong in their own right. They may not be a Dean-and-Castiel level of headstrong and they may not be a Mary-and-John level of conflicted, but they had their own problems. Figures that Bobby and Karen were the only blissful marriage in his small circle. Who even saw that coming? The only conflict those two had had was about Bobby’s smoking, which ended with Karen throwing Bobby’s smokes into the fireplace and Bobby smiling sappily (!!!) before proclaiming his love for her. What the hell. Meanwhile, Sam was still overprotective and paranoid because sue him, he’d lost too many women in his life to the supernatural.

Chuck’s plot devices.

And Eileen got it, she was _amused_ for a long time in the beginning. Until she wasn’t. They’d fight about this regularly, and both refused to budge. It wasn’t until Deanna went off to college, and Sam found himself _not_ reacting as intensely to her tales of barfights and pissed misogynists, that he realized he’d manifested Eileen’s desire for space in his attitude towards his daughter. And it wasn’t like Deanna didn’t live up to it. He could count on one hand the amount of times she’d actually appeared beaten up on their doorstep, a delighted grin splitting her face.

Maybe that made him a bad parent, but he couldn’t randomly switch tactics _after_ she’d grown up. That wasn’t fair to anyone. But Deanna could take care of herself for ten short minutes at the very least.

[That’s not fair. She’s an adult, honey.] he pleaded with her, employing the best puppy-dog expression he had.

[Fuck you.]

The vehemence left him reeling as she brushed past him with the take-out, storming off to the living room.

Breathe.

He calmly made his way to Deanna’s room and calmly knocked on her door and very calmly signed, [Your mom’s worried. Wants me to walk with you tonight. Is that okay?]

Cue defensive tantrum.

[I don’t need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself. I am−] Sam turned away, so she continued with voiced speech, “I _did_ survive years after you two were gone, you know? Even when I was out of my mind with grief. You know how many times I’ve been mugged in an alley? Nonce. That _alone_ −”

“ _Deanna, can we not?_ ” he shouted, spinning back to face he. Breathe. He moderated his voice at her stunned expression. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. But supernatural threats are different from humans in an alley, okay? I know you can take care of yourself. Hell, your mom does too. But you’re our only kid.”

She looked away, eyes flashing with anger. He could almost hear her thoughts: _It’s not fair of you to pull that card, Dad._

“Just, for our sake, don’t go alone. You don’t have to take one of us, but don’t go alone.”

She looked back at him with grudging acceptance. Then she nodded in affirmation before storming out abruptly, tossing out, “I’ll take Claire. She’s been texting me ever since we found out.”

Small victories.

*****

Balthazar was worried.

He acted pissed and irritated, but Dean knew that dance pretty fucking well.

“And he didn’t say anything? Nothing beyond repeating your name on a loop?” he exploded. “Are you sure you’re not confusing this with your horizontal tango sessions?”

“Balthazar, look, I get you’re worried. But why are you here, man? Not like you’ve been up for Cas’s company ever since you woke up,” Dean pointed out, raising an eyebrow in challenge. _Deny it, sis, go ahead._

Balthazar’s eye twitched and he stomped over to the comfy chair in their bedroom, throwing himself on it like the extra bitch he was. A bottle of Jack manifested in his hand.

“It’s not like I’m _in_ his company per se, you simpleton. It might have escaped your notice, but that angel on your chest is very much unconscious.”

_Touché._

“Look, I thought it was an angel thing, until you barged in here and threw that idea out the window. You sure this ain’t some angelic weapon?”

“I stole those weapons myself, do you really want to dispute my opinion?”

“Well, you’re stressed about your brother right now, might’ve addled your brain or whatever it is angels have in their noggins.”

“Why ‘ _addled_ ’ indeed! What a mighty fancy word for you, darling. Did you learn that from your smarter brother or your dumber angel?” Dean was very close to blinking Balthy-boy out of his home. He decided to keep his mouth shut for a few moments, and it _wasn’t_ because he didn’t have a comeback. He had plenty. Then he tried, “Are you sure you can’t heal him?”

“For the last time, and I’ll say it slowly: I am not a medic. I knew you Winchesters would expect me to be at your beck-and-call had I chosen that path, and I’d rather _not_ spend my precious time witnessing your buffoonery.” He raised a testy eyebrow and chugged his drink like it was water. It probably was, to him.

“Well then, who can? Any of those angels in the medbay?” Dean snapped angrily, feeling Cas twitch in his sleep. _God, that pillow is flat and useless. Why the fuck did I not manifest a bed with a padded backrest?_

“The Garden is well beyond a simple−”

“Can you answer without the double helping of condescension?”

“The _Garden_ , is not, a medbay. But maybe I can send Israfil over. That being said, you are aware that healing of non-life-threatening wounds on angels is illegal now, and that you would be pulling her down into your mud pit if you asked to do this?”

_Smarmy dick._

“This look ‘non-life-threatening’ to you?” he mocked with his finest rendition of a Britty. “Do _you_ know what the hell caused this?”

“Fuck no, but he’s still breathing, isn’t he? Or have you been cuddling a corpse this entire time? Necrophiliac much?”

_Don’t even joke about that._

“Then I won’t get him healed completely. She can speed up the process a bit, can’t she?” he pleaded, breathing deeply to swallow his pride. Cas was on thin ice with this dude as was, he didn’t need Dean pissing him off beyond salvage.

“That’d be a question for her, lad,” he snapped himself out of their room.

On cue, Cas whimpered and trembled in his arms.

“Cas? Hey, you back with me?” he whispered, trying to sooth him by gently massaging the back of his nape. Cas pressed his nose into Dean’s chest before mumbling, “Hello, Dean.”

_Best goddamn words I ever heard._

“Hi there, Sleepy. How you doing?”

“My essence is on fire.”

Dean’s head shot up in alarm, expecting to see flames he’d somehow missed. _No, still good._

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what happened, Cas? Was it the barrier again?” He didn’t want to make Cas relive that shit, but he needed to figure out what the hell had happened or he’d go crazy.

“Vividly.”

Dean waited a beat. “Wanna elaborate?”

“I think it was daevas. I might be wrong, but I do strongly believe that.”

Dean sucked in a surprised breath. _What the hell?_

“What the hell? _How_?”

“I’m assuming it was the portal.”

“But how the fuck did daevas even manage to get into Heaven, Cas? I don’t know if you’re aware, but daevas can’t stand light.”

Cas tweaked his nipple in reprimand. _Motherfucker_. He really hated Sam for teaching him that one.

“I am not unintelligent, Dean. I know my monsters and Hell-dwellers. But I believe they made it because Heaven isn’t all light anymore . . . not truly.”

“The hell are you talking about, man? You got demons running around here?”

“Don’t be absurd; why would we let demons into Heaven? No, I’m talking about balance. The new balance.”

_Oh._

“Amara.”

“Precisely.”

“So, can’t you like, pull her outta Jack and toss her down to Earth?”

“No, Dean,” Cas was starting to sound like his pissy self again. “I cannot ‘toss’ her down _or_ ‘pull her out’ of Jack.” Ah, there they were. Air quotes. What a dork. “She’s a cosmic being and I’m a mere seraph.”

“Ain’t nothing mere about you, Sunshine,” Dean reassured. “Okay, so what do we do?”

“ _You_ don’t do anything. This is my fight, and you have given enough. This is supposed to be your eternal rest, Dean.” Damn, Cas was testy these days.

“Yeah well, I ain’t resting with you turning up half-dead on my lap because you’re too much of a dumbass to accept help,” Dean argued hotly.

“I’m serious, Dean,” Cas pushed off him, starting to rise up. “I _do not_ want you−”

Dean saw it as happened. Cas’s eyes widened in alarm, face contorting in pain. _Shit, his back_. And his back arched away from Dean even as his forehead thumped right into him. Cas let out a strangled scream which sent Dean into overdrive. He was helpless to do anything, though, so he just started stroking Cas’s face, neck, arms, anything to calm him down as he panicked to think of any solution.

 _Painkillers_ , his brain supplied at last. Abandoning Cas’s clammy skin as the horrible keening noises persisted, Dean flailed his hand out and pulled his bedside drawer out. He tried not to jostle Cas to much as he rummage around in there. Then he distinctly heard footsteps. Running. Towards their room. Alarmed, Dean abandoned his quest for pills and reached down under their bed to grab the holy water squirt gun. Aimed it at the door, hand on the trigger and . . . _squirt!_

“ _Dean_! What the hell, dude! What’s wrong with Cas?”

 _Fuck, it’s just Deanna_.

“Painkillers, get water,” he clipped out, hand going back to Cas’s neck to try and calm him down enough to take the pills.

“He can’t swallow shit right now, I blinked him this morphine.” Dean looked up to see her brandishing a dripping syringe. Wetting his lips, he rasped out, “Might not be enough.”

“Then I’ll blink up more. Hold him still.” She walked towards them, eyes focused.

Dean winced as he wrapped his arms around Cas, arm pressing down against the lighter cuts littered there. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered as Cas sobbed out a pained gasp, skull pushing Dean’s head back awkwardly. “It’s okay, just hold on. Hold on, please.”

Deanna was quick and smooth in her administration. She pulled away, met Dean’s eyes and answered his silent question with a wry smile, “Lifetime of dealing with troubled patients.”

Dean nodded, lips pressed firmly to Cas’s hairline. He breathed in the scent of Cas’s froofy vanilla shampoo. Sammy had introduced him to it, obviously to piss his brother off. _Joke’s on him, though. This just smells like Cas now._

Cas’s movements grew languid, but his trembling persisted. Deanna, bless her weird shrink heart, didn’t even need to be told twice. She injected him again. A few moments later, Cas sagged against him fully, fingers releasing Dean’s shirtfront, now featuring rips and damp from tears and sweat. Dean sagged with him, a soft sob escaping his lips unapproved. The kid sat down beside him on the bed, a warm palm resting on his shoulder. They sat there in silence until she broke it quietly, “Claire’s waiting in the foyer.”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna bring her in, alright?”

“Okay.”

“She’ll stay with Cas, and you’ll let me take care of you.”

Dean was so, so tired. “Okay, kid.”

Claire took it harder than he had.

The moment she saw Cas, she froze. Dean didn’t blame her; Cas looked like shit. Sweaty, pale, face screwed up in pain even in sleep. And he looked weak and fragile. Claire had probably never seen him like that, and it was probably worse because Cas still looked like her father.

Dean knew what he had to do with her, though.

“Claire, get over here and help move him off ’a me,” he ordered, voice still rough in his throat.

It worked, at least. She physically shook off her fugue and stalked over, arms grabbing Cas’s shoulders. Dean slowly, painstakingly wiggled out. He took over for her as she fluffed the pillows and rearranged them underneath Cas. Then he laid his angel down and stared at that line between his eyebrows. And when he felt a thin hand tug at his bicep and a soft, whispered ‘come on’, he went.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter.
> 
> Okay, it's a pre-emptive apology in case finals fuck up my sense of time again. They probably will, so I'm leaving next week's chapter here.
> 
> This is a longer one. Plus, I couldn't leave with that baby cliffy in the last chapter. Too SPN-y for my taste.

It was a curious thing, that with the agony originating from his back, he was roused from his slumber by the mild annoyance that was bunched pillow covering under his cheek. He may have made some sort of noise in protest of dawning awareness, because he felt a hand in his hair.

The hand felt too small to be Dean’s.

He willed his eyes to open, and his grace to sense who the hand belonged to. His grace refused, but his eyes made an effort: slowly and grudgingly opening. He blinked the film of slumber enveloping his vision as a slender feminine form came into focus.

“Claire,” he tried. But his voice gave out with the click of ‘C-’.

She shushed him before he could try again, and then there was something smooth and thin pressing into his mouth. _A straw_ , his mind supplied. _You need to suck to pull liquid through it._

A caricature of Dean, that resided within his conscious, chortled in juvenile amusement at the word ‘suck’.

He sucked.

Cool, soothing water filled his mouth.

 _Now swallow it down, baby_ , Caricature-Dean crooned.

 _Shut up, Dean. This is NOT the time_.

He swallowed, nonetheless.

It helped some. So he greedily consumed more. He made a noise of complaint when he felt it being pulled away unceremoniously.

“Not too much, don’t want you getting old man vomit on my boots,” Claire admonished, but there was little heat in her intonation.

“I don’t want that either,” he reassured her. He smiled at her amused chuckle, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Then her expression sobered, and Cas was likewise disappointed to witness it. “I know people keep asking you this, so I’m just going to phrase it different: do you feel as bad as you look?”

 _How bad did he look? He couldn’t determine that at the moment to use as a metric_. _But he could make an educated guess._

“Probably,” he admitted. Then he felt the bed dip to his side, and his mind must be muddled somehow because he didn’t recall seeing her move. Then her hand was back, running through his hair. That was very soothing. Claire had slimmer fingers than Dean, so the sensations from her ministrations were more focused and the pressure of her clipped fingernails _felt great_.

“Does Jimmy know you’re here?” he had to ask before he succumbed to approaching slumber.

“Yeah. He won’t admit it, but he’s worried too,” Claire’s low timbre and soft tone pulled Cas closer to the brink of slumber.

_One last thing . . ._

“I find that very hard to believe,” he hoped the words didn’t sound as garbled as they felt in his mouth. He never heard her reply because he felt his consciousness tip over into the chasm of sleep.

He dreamed of Claire’s first day in Heaven.

*****

_Castiel had no delusions about what would happen when Jimmy saw him. But when he felt his grace sing as Claire appeared in Heaven, he knew he would accompany her to her parents’ home as she prayed to him to request it. He still owed much to her._

_Claire Novak was no longer a fiery teenager when he met her again. She was a fiery adult. Her long-flowing locks were cut shorter, streaks of cornflower blue that matched her irises adorning it. She held herself differently, shoulders wider apart, head raised._

_But she had still died young. And Castiel knew she had pursed a hunter’s life. Her eyes possessed the same sharpness as Dean and Sam’s, her body was taut with caution. She smiled at him, regardless, as he appeared before her._

_“Hey, dumbass,” her voice was deeper and softer, perhaps adopting her father’s deeper timbre. He did not hesitate to draw her into his embrace, wings curling around her unbidden. She seemed to relax a bit before pulling away. “Let’s go. I wanna see my Mom react to you and Dad’s double-trouble impression.”_

_They went._

_As suspected, he was decidedly unwelcome in the Novak household._

_He saw Jimmy’s fist, only minimally different from his own fist, approach his face and ensured that the man wouldn’t break his bones upon impact. Castiel, however, wasn’t as fortunate. He heard the crunch as his cheekbone split, a sharp pain shooting across his skull._

_“Dad!” Claire protested. So he reached out, aiming to pause her with a hand upon her shoulder. This was well and truly deserved, after all._

_“No,” Jimmy’s voice was cold and unrelenting. He pulled Claire away before Castiel could touch her and pushed her inside his home. “If you come back here, I will use that angel blade I acquired especially for you. Consider this an undeserved warning.”_

_Castiel did._

_Later, as Dean kneeled between his spread legs, tending to his bruise, he pondered obsessively over those words. He wondered if he’d ever see Claire again, and was immediately riddled with guilt for his wanton desire._

_“It’ll get better,” Dean had promised tenderly._

_“How do you know?” Cas had enquired at the conviction, still entrenched in egoistic self-pity._

_“”Coz I said so,” Dean had boasted, a twinkle in his eyes. “And I’m always right.”_

_Well, that was completely false. He’d opened his mouth to inform Dean so, but Dean has insistently pushed his lips into Castiel’s. It rendered him mute, point forgotten. And then he’d pulled away, whispering a somber promise, “You’ll make it better.”_

_Castiel tried._

*****

His transition to awareness was easier this time. A soft grey hue filled his vision. He lay there until the soft rise and fall of Dean’s chest under his cheek registered.

“Dean,” he whispered, unable to do much more.

“Hey,” Dean greeted him in a whisper as well. They lay there in silence as Cas tried to ignore the dull pangs of pain. That didn’t make sense either.

“Why doesn’t it hurt as bad?” he tried, voice cracking and giving away at points. He felt something cold nudge at his lips and he let it in. Dean slid a chip of ice into his mouth and Cas felt the brush of his warm fingers as they pulled away. He tried to kiss them before they went away, but he wasn’t certain of his success. Regardless, those fingers swept over his lips, wiping away the liquid coating them.

“Morphine,” Dean hummed. The vibrating motions of the ribs underneath his face felt strangely soothing. He burrowed in deeper, letting out a noise of contentment.

“You feeling better, huh? Catstiel?” Dean chuckled this time, and that felt good too. It felt like being rocked to sleep. He imagined this was the reason why humans put their babies to sleep like this.

“Am I ‘purring’ again?” he whispered, words garbled by the ice chip.

“Essentially, yeah.”

“I like the vibrations . . . it feels soothing,” Cas admitted.

“Hm . . . remind me to introduce to even nicer ones once you get better, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

They lay in silence for a while, as Cas finished the last of the ice. Then Dean started humming. Immediately, the movement lulled Castiel closer to sleep. Then he recalled something.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sunshine?”

“Do you know any songs by Celine Dion?”

Dean went very still underneath him. Cas frowned, burying his nose into the soft fabric of his shirt, one hand slipping under the hem to run over his warm belly. Then Dean relaxed again, “Sure. I just know the one.”

He started humming the same tune Isra had been in the Garden. And Castiel wouldn’t say this to her, but he much preferred Dean’s voice.

As he vowed to himself to guard this secret for eternity, he drifted back to peaceful sleep for the first time since this ordeal had started.

*****

Dean was there when he woke up again, but he was no longer underneath him. He also looked strangely nervous and determined.

“You awake?” he’d asked, moving closer and kneeling beside him on the floor.

“Yes,” Cas had affirmed. _His voice was betraying him again; how irksome_.

Dean administered water as Claire had before.

“Okay, don’t get mad.”

Cas’s eyes snapped open with sudden awareness. It was _never_ a good thing when Dean said that.

“What?” Cas demanded.

“But I want you to remember this is her choice, and her choice alone. She just reminded me of that. Very thoroughly.”

_Who? Claire? Mary? Eileen? Deanna?_

Before Cas could keep on listing possibilities, someone moved into his human field of vision. Israfil.

“Hello, brother,” she greeted. “I’m going to heal you now.”

“Absolutely not,” Cas snapped. “I won’t allow it.”

For the first time since he’d met her, her eyes filled with fury. “Try and stop me; go ahead.”

Castiel moved to do just that, when Dean halted him with a hand to his nape. He chided her, “Isra, we talked about this. Just speed it along, no healing. That way, you’re not really breaking Jack’s rules.”

_No, Dean. How could you betray me so?_

A pang of pain shot across him as he unwound his tense back.

_Okay, maybe a little help wouldn’t matter._

“But Hannah−” he tried to protest anyway. He was cut off by his sister, “Is awake and well enough. I’ll send her your way as you mend fully.”

Cas would blame the combination of pain, pain-relieving medication and utter surprise at that revelation as the culprit of his inaction. He felt cool fingers at his shoulder, the strangeness of grace that wasn’t his within his vessel, and then he slumped with an embarrassing moan of relief. He may have heard Dean’s mirth, but at that moment, he _did not give a shit_.

He vaguely registered Isra taking her leave after she said something to Dean. When he surfaced from his daze, Dean was still crouched before him, quietly looking at his face.

“I feel much better. Thank you,” he mumbled to his hunter.

“Good. Now tell me why Jack isn’t responding to my calls,” Dean demanded, voice still quiet.

“I don’t know. We had a fight earlier today,” Cas accepted shamefacedly.

Dean sighed, “Well, should’ve seen that comin’.”

“I suppose. It was about me . . . misusing my grace,” Cas confession, looking down and away from Dean’s eyes. He let his gaze linger at the skin right above the neck of his shirt. Sweat made the pale, freckled skin gleam and Cas hungered for a taste.

Dean’s mind, however, was on a different track altogether. “ _Misusing_? Cas, what did you do?”

Cas forced his eyes back to meet Dean’s. “I have been careless, as he put it. Jack knew beforehand, of course, but I believe he, ah, reached his limit. He called me to him to reprimand me.”

“Okay, so your kid found you with your hand in the cookie jar,” Dean paraphrased.

Regret laced through him and he looked away with a soft, shameful utterance, “He can no longer be described in that manner.”

A cowardly part of him wished, _wished_ Dean wouldn’t catch on. He did, with a horrified gasp. “Cas, tell me you didn’t. Did you tell him that?”

“I did.” Catching the disappointment reflected back to, he hurried to make excuses, “I was angered, and malicious. I felt like I was well within my right to,” he looked away, not wanting to reveal precisely how he had overindulged, “to ‘misuse’ my own grace.”

“And now he’s blocked us off his number,” Dean looked so tired.

“I believe that’s a fair assumption,” Cas nodded.

Dean leaned back, and Cas watched him apprehensively, wondering what he’d say next. He didn’t have to wait long, “Okay, this is what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna pray to him, you’ll apologize, and then we’ll discuss the daeva invasion.”

Embarrassment and anger filled him. Dean thought this was his fault. It wasn’t. Jack had said equally scathing things to him, but it was not his place to confess to the successor’s crimes. Dean looked at him, face hardening with resolve, “This is not about your goddamn squabbling anymore, Castiel. These daevas might be all there is. But you and I know it ain’t ever just that. When the shit rains, it pours. So I need you to swallow your damn pride and you’re gonna call the guy who can deal with this shitstorm. So it don’t bite us in the ass later. I’ll put you above everything, but I ain’t putting your fucking ego above my family’s safety.”

Dean was right, of course.

Castiel wanted to believe there was more to his contentious bickering than pride. He wanted to cite that Jack was listening to the wrong people, being blind in his judgements. Castiel had not witnessed Chuck learning how to act as God of the worlds he had created, but he had an inkling it started with a similar rigid belief in rules and order. He couldn’t let Jack become Chuck.

And Castiel would admit that he had trouble adhering to heavenly constraints. But wanting to ease the lives of the heroes who had repeatedly saved the world was not a misuse of his power. Jack was being ungrateful. And Jack was ignoring history by accepting Naomi’s counsel.

He pushed that thought away, not wanting to delve into that matter. Then he reached out with his grace **, _Jack. Jack, if you can hear me . . . this is important. Creatures of the dark, creatures of malintent have broken past the barrier. Please come to me, for I cannot come to you right now._**

When he pulled his grace back, he saw Dean looking at him strangely.

“What?”

He seemed to shake himself out of some reverie. “Nothin’, uh, it’s still kinda freaky watching you use the force.”

Cas squinted at him in confusion and he rolled his eyes, “When you do the prayin’ and prayer receivin’, Cas. Your eyes go all white and unfocussed and you look constipated as fuck.”

“That’s a tasteful way to describe divine communication,” Cas jibed.

“I’m a tasteful−”

Cas did not expect Dean’s abrupt change of mood with the sound of wings folding. Within seconds, Dean had relocated across the room, an arm braced against Jack’s chest. Anger radiated off him as he gritted, “Did you get my prayer?”

_Dean had prayed to Jack?_

Jack looked back at him, surprised but unbothered. “Yes.”

“And you decided not to come?”

“I was busy.”

“Too busy to come make sure Cas didn’t die?”

Jack levelled a cold look at them both. “If he had, I would’ve brought him back.”

“He was in pain, Jack!” Dean’s voice cracked in anger as he roared at the new God.

For the first time since his arrival, Jack’s expression seemed reminiscent of humanity. He steadfastly mumbled, “Pain is necessary. To empathize with humans.”

“ _No!_ ” Dean was shouting now. “That is _not_ what you say when you hear that your family’s suffering. And _empathy_? You name one angel who _empathizes_ more with humans than that one over there. _One_ angel who has done more for humanity, _sacrificed_ more for people.”

Jack’s eyes went steely again, “You and Sam don’t constitute all humanity, Dean. Cas did what he did for you two, and only you two.”

He was right, perhaps. Cas felt shame burn behind his eyes, manifesting as tears. He willed that they not fall, stared at the ceiling to ensure it even though it hurt his head.

“Okay,” Dean pulled back suddenly, voiced quietening. “Okay.” He dragged a palm down his face, coming to stand between himself and Jack. “I don’t quite understand what’s really going on with you two. But I need this shit stowed away till we can figure out how to knock the daevas back. And then figure out why they were here in the first place.”

“Daevas?”

“Shadow demons,” Cas offered. Jack looked at him a beat and then responded, “Do you have any proof?”

Dimly, he registered Dean’s outraged vocalization. But he felt the same seething anger permeate his bones. Carelessly, he reached and flipped the bedding, exposing his mutilated back. His body protested the movement vehemently, sweat breaking out over his skin from the pain. “Is this proof enough for you?”

“Cas!” Dean gasped in horror. Cas ignored him in favor of looking at the shock and fear that filled Jack’s face.

“Heal yourself,” he had the gall to demand.

“No,” Cas snapped.

“Heal yourself, _now_ ,” Jack shouted. Cas refused again.

“Wait, Cas, I thought you said you _couldn’t_ heal yourself. That this wasn’t life-threatening enough, which, by the way, is a crock of bull,” Dean had a hand on Jack’s chest. Not that that would hold him back if Jack really wanted to move.

“That’s life-threatening. A shadow demon’s poison can infect an angel’s grace . . . eating away at it until it disappears and then consuming whatever else it can find in the vessel. Cas, you must know this,” Jack looked confused now.

“It was you who wanted me to stop misusing my grace, _God_ ,” Cas sneered. He felt his body start to shake from pangs of pain again. “So I stopped.”

“Oh my God, Castiel, you did not pull a petty bitch routine while you were literally infected with a supernatural poison!” Dean looked pale. Cas felt his anger recede, looking at the genuine distress he had cruelly caused Dean with his actions. “Okay, I’m done. I’m going to Sam’s for the rest of the day, I’ll send Deanna to take over babysitting. Jack, stay here till she comes.”

They both opened their mouths to protest, but Dean was gone.

So they met each other’s gaze, both refusing to apologize first. Then Castiel’s back rudely informed him of his maltreatment of it mere minutes ago and decided that consciousness was not in the cards anymore.

*****

Sam hadn’t seen Dean like this in a long, long time.

Dean was face-down on his couch, refusing to interact with the world. A small part of Sam wanted to pull him up, force him to talk about this because letting shit fester in Dean’s mind was a recipe for disaster.

But a larger part of him was just relieved Dean had come to him and hadn’t turned to the bottle.

And an even larger part, that disturbed part that had missed the rush of hunting, was willing him to pull out the drawing board and research this new development. Sam was weak, so he listened to it.

And that’s how Eileen found them three hours later; Dean still face-down on the couch in near-catatonia and Sam hunched over notes and papers and pins and thread, hair messed and eyes wild.

Wordlessly, she picked up a sheet and went over it. Sam held his breath, leaning back and crossing his legs on the floor. He looked up at her cautiously. She met his look. [Daevas?] she spelled.

[Yes. Cas says that’s what attacked him.] he confirmed.

Wordlessly, she joined him, firing up her own laptop and pulling a stack of papers close. She took her gathered items to the couch, kicking at Dean to make him shift and then plopped down there.

And they worked together until midnight.

*****

[I found something.] Sam signed urgently. Dean raised an eyebrow at him from where he was lounging.

“I found something,” Sam said for his benefit. Dean made a valiant effort at a bitchface, “Yeah, I got that, assface. What did you find?”

Shrugging in apology, Sam resumed signing, orienting himself more towards his brother, just in case Dean wasn’t as fluent as he was claiming to be. [I don’t think Amara is−] he paused, looking at Eileen’s frantic shaking. Alarmed, he looked at her. Then he caught the grin on her face. [Say it.]

Sam made a bitchface that put Dean’s to shame. [For real?]

[Come on, say it.] she was laughing now. Dean looked between them with amusement, obviously realizing Sam was being tortured and instantly relishing it. He joined in, [Yeah, Sammy. Say it. Whatever it is.]

[Fuck both of you.] Sam scowled heartily. Meanwhile, Eileen had been explaining the joke to Dean. Dean let out a delighted laugh. [Please, Sam! I need this. I’ve had a rough day, come on.] Dean broke out the pouty look.

Dammit. Contorting his fingers and reaching up, he held his name-sign and the sign for ‘moose’ together. Eileen’s creation for the phrase: _so get this._

She wasn’t remotely as funny as she thought she was. Dean disagreed with that notion, obviously. He rolled of his couch laughing.

Sam barged ahead, determined to not be distracted by _children_.

[Amara may not be what’s drawing the daevas.] he paused to ensure he held their attention. [First, they don’t have much in the way of choice in their actions. They wouldn’t have decided that they wanted to come to Amara and then done it. We know they don’t go where they aren’t called. And it’s nearly impossible to send a daeva to another dimension. They only work for you in the dimension they get called to.]

His audience calmed down. Dean said it first. [There’s a rat in Jack’s new team.]

[Big time.] Eileen confirmed.

[That’s not all.] Sam interrupted. [They’re simply supernatural goons. Whoever called them, they’re just using them as bodyguards while they do whatever they want to.]

“Someone’s after Cas!” Dean gasped. Then he colored a bit, realizing he’d forgotten to sign, which was weirdly sweet of him. Not for the first time, unfortunately, he found himself cringing at his ready categorization of Dean as an insensitive ass.

[Cas was talking about angels being pissed about not getting to punish him.] Dean continued. Sam saw the glint of anger, but Dean didn’t say anything in favor of explaining his logic. [Remember when Meg set those daevas on us?]

Sam nodded. Dean looked at him expectantly, but Sam wasn’t getting it. [So?]

“Dude!” Dean exploded. [Daevas don’t attack anyone unless they’re told to. And Cas was just doing a usual perimeter check when he got attacked. He wasn’t even probing the barrier or whatever.]

Fuck. Sam’s eyebrows shot up in realization.

[I’m going home.] Dean fumbled a bit as he got to his feet.

“Wait,” Sam grabbed his stuff, and Eileen did the same. She looked at him and he saw that she understood. She turned to Dean, grasping her own stuff. “We’re coming with you. We’ll have a sleepover tonight.”

Dean opened his mouth, probably to protest before he snapped his mouth shut.

Miracle of miracles.

[Call Claire.] he spelled.

“What?” Sam blurted. “Why?”

“Sammy, you said she used to be the best goddamn hunter you ever saw in your life. You don’t think we could use her help? And I don’t give a rat’s ass about Jimmy’s grudge. She’s a grown-ass woman.”

“Dean, that’s not what Jimmy’ll be pissed about. Claire died on the job, man. How can you ask this of her?”

“Sam, don’t fucking argue with me on this. Call Claire, or I’ll do it anyway. I’m going,” Dean signed as he spoke. Then he stormed out, jogging home.

*****

His home which was, thankfully, still in one piece.

A strange anxiety gripped Sam and he barged past Dean at the threshold, ignoring his noise of protest. He ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time, screaming, “Deanna!”

He reached Dean’s bedroom and slammed the door open. Cas, who was awake, yelped and jumped where he was on the bed. Sam paused guiltily to make sure that Cas wasn’t seizing in pain before demanding, “Sorry! Where’s Deanna?”

Wincing and readjusting, Cas peered at him in curiosity and muttered, “I think she went to lie down in the guest room.”

“Dammit Sam, did you freak Cas out?”

Ignoring Dean again, he pushed past and stalked to the guest room. He just needed to see that she was okay.

Maybe he just wanted to be right and win this fight with Eileen once and for all. Clearly, he wasn’t thinking straight before he knocked the door open.

He did not see that coming.

“ _Dad!_ Oh my God!” he snapped his eyes shut because _nope_. Then he tried, “Sorry! I just. Um, I needed to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry, _shit_!”

His eyes firmly shut, he felt his way back out the room, fumbling to close the door behind him in an attempt at apology.

“The fuck?” Great, now Dean was here. Sam peeked, realizing it was Dean _and_ Cas, the latter leaning heavily on the former. Dean, face blotchy with anger, fumed, “Sammy, the fuck is going on with you, you fucking moose?”

Yeah, he deserved that one. Before he could try and employ his puppiest puppy-dog face, he heard the door behind him click open.

When the shit rains, it pours.

Resigned to at least a month of embarrassment and mocking, Sam shifted to give the girls space to move out into the hall.

“Claire? When did you get here?” Cas frowned.

“Hey, dumbass,” Claire tried half-heartedly, face red.

Meanwhile, Dean’s expression could only be described as: !!!!!

“Oh my God! Seriously?!” he screamed, looking scandalized. “Oh my God. You two are taking the sheets when you leave and burning the shit out of them.”

Deanna smirked and once again, Sam wondered what he was being punished for. “Maybe we’ll keep them as a memento. You know sex isn’t something to be afraid of, right guys?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam mumbled, face heating up again.

Dean, on the other hand, let out a shriek. “Gross! No! You don’t say that every again! Sammy, what the fuck were you on when you spawned that one?”

“Memento of what?” Cas made a valiant effort at his Castiel-Does-Not-Understand-That-Reference face, except he was already pretty tilted, leaning on Dean.

“No one answer that,” Sam pleaded before running back downstairs like a coward.

*****

“Okay! Family movie night,” Dean declared as he trudged back down the stairs, Cas in tow. Sam was still pretty wigged out, and Eileen’s laughter at the shenanigans in the house wasn’t helpful. At least she was laughing again.

“Frozen,” Sam piped, signing as he spoke. Safe, G-rated, and Deanna’s favorite childhood movie.

Dean’s head jerked to him so hard that Sam was sure he’d dislocated it.

“Yes, Claire likes that movie. And I am fond of it too,” Cas smiled. He still looked a little loopy. That solved the mystery of how he was up and about, then. Also, Dean was whipped so Sam knew he was gonna win this one. Claire wasn’t as happy with Cas’s reveal though. She slapped his arm and then howled, grabbing her hand. “What the fuck! I think I broke my hand.”

Deanna laughed, and Sam immediately felt panic overloading his brain. And Cas slowly turned and looked at Claire, reaching out and tapping her on the nose. Claire went cross-eyed, staring at her nose and flexing her newly healed hand.

Dean shrugged, “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam settled in for a long night. And just because he’d had a difficult day, he snagged the fluffiest blanket the house had and cocooned himself before flopping onto a couch.

*****

_When Naomi said she wanted to talk, Jack was decidedly unsettled. He wanted to go to Cas, ask him to go with him to meet her. Maybe just beg him to tell Jack what to do._

_A part of him saw why Chuck went about this as he did. Chuck knew everything that would happen, because he’d written the story. Jack didn’t. And as much as he wanted free will, he just **needed** to make sure everything wouldn’t blow up in his face._

_He appeared behind Naomi in her office. She’d really wanted one, claiming that it helped her ‘lock down and do what needs to be done’. Cas had told him it was a bad idea, that Naomi and rooms with doors that could be shut didn’t mix well. But Naomi couldn’t hurt people anymore; couldn’t hurt Cas anymore because Jack would **know**. He just did that now. And Amara had hummed in approval. He’d left her on Earth, on the beaches of Goa, with a clear connection line open between them. _

_The balance Chuck talked about . . . it felt like friendship. Not a new one, but one that somehow just . . . clicked. It was much more than that and yet . . . not._

_And that led to Jack’s other problem. He knew things, sure, but he didn’t know enough. He needed to know if listening to someone’s suggestions would be a good idea or not. And even though he could know everything about that person with a snap, he still didn’t know if listening or rejecting was right or wrong._

_He was God now, shouldn’t he instinctively just know?_

_“Hello Jack,” Naomi’s small smile was a surprise, and Jack let it show._

_. . . and that was the other problem. His emotions felt weirder now. As if emotions and knowledge were having a tug of war in his mind. And Jack had to keep deciding which part to choose. But perhaps that was the side effect of free will. Constant choices to make. All on your own._

_“You look . . . happier, Naomi,” he said. There was something lighter in her manner. She seemed less angry. Less wanting of control. This was a good thing, if he knew anything about her. And he did._

_“I owe you an apology. I think I owe Castiel an apology too,” she smiled at him. Oh, maybe Naomi was finally healing. Jack almost buzzed with thrill. His plans were working._

_“I can’t apologize to Cas for you, though.”_

_“I know . . . I’ll do it in person. Later.” She walked across the room grabbing for his hand. He let her. “Jack, you two were right. Humanity . . . they’re worth it. I never really understood how much strength was needed to do what they do. These days, with the new order, I feel so much more. I feel such immense joy when I see a fledgling attempting to fly. I see them fall and try again and it feels right!”_

_There were tears rising in her eyes. Humanity suited her._

_“I would’ve been made to punish them for their failure. And had I refused, I myself would have been punished.”_

_Her mood changed. “I realize how arduous the rebels’ journey have been. Castiel, Anna, Gabriel . . . we never should have cut them away. We should have helped them. **I** should have helped them. Supported them in their causes.”_

_Jack felt joy. This time there was no question. He let it show. “Naomi, this is good. Thank you for telling me.”_

_“I had to.”_

_“And now, I want you to talk to everyone you know you’ve hurt.”_

_Her eyes teared up, but she was feeling hope. “I will. Thank you, Jack.”_

_With delight singing in his essence, he flew away to visit the fledglings._

*****

Castiel refused to heal himself. And now there were daevas in Heaven.

When Jack had first assumed the role of God, he expected anger for his changes from many angels. But not Castiel. Not Cas. And Jack didn’t _know_ why Cas was mad. His policies were fair. He was protecting those Cas had _died_ to protect – humans. He was basically modelling his future angels on Castiel. But Cas wanted less rules. Less order.

But rules were important for angels, as they transitioned from who they’d been since they were created. And Jack’s rules were better. Maybe Cas couldn’t see that yet. So Jack tried to make him. He’d called Cas to him, asked him to stop using his grace for simple things like heating up Dean’s coffee in the morning or . . . he’d mended a dog’s broken leg the other day. The dog would have survived without it. And the dog wasn’t extraordinary. If everything and everyone was to be equal in the new world, one of his angels could not be performing miracles to reward when rewards weren’t needed.

When he heard Sam and Dean say daevas, he’d tuned in and listened. And later, as they settled in at home and all of them fell asleep in the same room, Jack appeared in the dark. He’d smiled at Claire and Deanna who were sleeping leaning away from each other even as their souls seem to reach towards. Sam, curled up and drooling on Eileen’s pants. And Dean and Cas.

If they’d gotten together when he’d been on Earth, Jack would have danced. He would’ve thrown a ‘coming out party’ like Sam had planned for Dean, but for both of them. He still didn’t know where they would have come out from but Sam was usually smart about these things.

Right then, Dean was holding Cas against him, and Cas had his wings wrapped around the two of them like a burrito. Jack could sense Dean’s toes wiggling from cold where they hung outside the wings. Smiling, Jack walked closer, trying to reach Cas’s back and speed up the healing more than Israfil had the previous day.

Except, Cas was a warrior, with warrior-like reflexes. His eyes snapped open, body moving to cover shield Dean and blade manifesting in his hand. Jack winced because he knew that would set off Dean. Dean was slightly more explosive, setting off Claire and Sam and then Eileen and Deanna. Like dominoes. The game, not the pizza place.

“Jack!” Dean snapped. “The hell. Don’t tell me you got Cas’s creepy ‘I’ll watch over you’ disease!”

Cas frowned, his blade disappearing as Jack turned the lights on. “I thought you secretly liked that.”

“I do now, but we’re fucking so there’s an excuse,” Dean grumbled, sinking back down.

“Hey Jack!” Claire chirped, walking over to smack his arm.

Deanna looked at her weirdly, “I thought you’d have learned your lesson about hitting celestial being today.”

“Shut up. Jack won’t let me get hurt, would ya?” Claire grinned at him. Oh, this was the big sister teasing she was talking about.

“Jack, not that we aren’t glad to see you,” Sam paused at Dean’s grumbling before continuing, “but what’s up?”

“Oh, I just came to heal Cas because he didn’t do it yet,” Jack smiled.

“Fuck!” Dean swore, and then the mood on one side of the room changed. Dean felt scared. Cas was . . . getting angry.

Jack frowned at him in confusion.

“Oh, so you were thinking of lying?” Cas demanded. Where was he going with this?

“No, I just wanted to do it while you were asleep . . . so it would be a nice surprise when you’d wake up,” Jack explained. Even though that seemed obvious.

“That’s lying. It’s subterfuge. I’m sure you know this, _God_ ,” Cas sneered.

“Yeah, but it’s for a good reason, so it’s okay, Cas.”

The humans had been quiet till then. Out of deference, maybe. Or they just didn’t know what was going on. Maybe they didn’t get Cas’s reaction either. It could have been, in part, due to the pain Cas was in.

But then Dean stepped forward with a quiet warning, “Jack, maybe you can−”

And Cas interrupted him harshly, “You do realize that that is breaking the rules. The rules you so adamantly insisted upon?”

And this time Dean turned to warn off Cas, which Jack supported. If anyone could make Cas see reason, it was Dean. To help him, Jack added, “I’m the one who made the rules, Cas. So you don’t have to worry about breaking them. I have some more leeway, so to speak.”

“Oh, so you’re above your own rules. Doesn’t that sound familiar?” Cas was really mad now. Before Jack could respond to the implication, Dean stepped between them and Jack felt Sam’s hand on his arm.

“Hey Sunshine, none of that,” Dean was whispering.

Cas got even angrier, this time with Dean. “Can you _for once_ trust me and my judgement?”

Sam’s hand on Jack’s shoulder got minutely tighter. Jack had to agree with his emotions.

“Cas, of course I trust you. But we all know Jack is anything but Chuck.”

“Then explain to me why he’s repeating all his mistakes. And making new, naïve ones along the way.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack needed to know. He couldn’t understand.

“I’m talking about Naomi!” Jack reeled back in surprise as Cas broke away from Dean with a flurry of movement. Taking his silence as his cue, Cas continued, an odd satisfaction in his eyes. “Oh yes, your private conversations with Naomi where you’ve been lapping up her lies like an overeager dog. You thought I wouldn’t be monitoring Naomi after all she’s done?”

Jack sifted through the past, trying to see when Cas had heard them. But there had been no Cas. There had been others – Gabriel and Anael being the only ones who knew Cas personally.

“Imagine my surprise when I realize you’re the one who’s let the serpent into Eden this time.”

“Enough!” Jack roared. The humans folded over. Never mind, Jack would heal their hearing right after he got this out. “I can’t believe you’ve been spying on your teammates,” Jack took a step forward. He didn’t care about being a benevolent God in that moment. “You betrayed me, Castiel.”

“I was trying to make sure no angels could harm you. But you invited them right over to stab you in the back,” Cas shouted, shaking in anger.

Abruptly, Jack realized what was going on.

“You think you’re special,” Jack said, quieter. He willed the humans to heal, and they did.

“That is _not_ what is happening here.”

“You used to be special, Cas. But now, you’re equal to others.”

“I _know_ that, Jack.”

“Don’t _call me that_ ,” Jack knew what to do. “I’m your God, Castiel. You will address me as such.”

Amara tugged on his conscience insistently. She wanted him to reconsider. But Jack knew Cas. He knew everything about him, and he knew how he could help Cas learn. So he continued, “And until you learn your place, you won’t have it.”

“What are you saying?” Dean was moving in front of him now.

**_Jack. No, don’t do this. I will pull away and sever the connection if you do. Do not._ **

Jack felt himself pause a bit at Amara’s threat. Maybe she was right. This was just Cas’s first offence. So he amended, “Cas, don’t come tomorrow. If I need you, I’ll call you. Until then, you are relieved of your duties. I think you need a break.”

There had been a hint of fear in Cas’s eyes that Jack hadn’t registered before. It dissipated. Dean and the other humans relaxed too.

“Okay, that sounds fair. Right, Cas?” Dean smiled. But it was a fake smile.

Cas looked away from all of them. “Right.”

“Okay . . . and you’re sure you don’t want Jack to heal your back?” Dean wanted Cas to be healed. It was the thing he wanted most in that moment. In fact, he didn’t even care how, he just wanted Cas to be better.

Cas didn’t reply, but he felt irritated and he glared at Dean, who backtracked, “Okay, okay. No healing, gotcha.”

Jack made to fly away when he felt something he had missed before. He gasped in horror.

**_I’ve been trying to tell you_. _I’ll be back as soon as I can, if you need me._**

Cas looked back at him with alarm, “What?”

“Someone’s missing!” Jack gasped. _Who, who, who was it? He couldn’t tell. This was something new, something he didn’t know very well. But he could tell it was_ _−_ “ _Grace_ is missing.”

“An angel,” Cas looked pale. “Who is it?”

Israfil was arriving. She landed in the Winchester house and cried, “It’s Hannah! She’s gone, Jack!”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's another cliffy. But at least you know Cas is okay?  
> Ish?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn, as promised. And plot that makes sense, hopefully.

To say Cas was seething would be an understatement.

Okay, Dean wasn’t a fan of Hannah’s. But she meant a lot to Cas, and also, he didn’t _want_ anything really bad to happen to her. Which seemed to be the case, if the Angelic Panic Syndrome was anything to go by.

The hesitant calmness Cas had given in to during movie night was long gone. Jack had disappeared with a flap of his wings, and Cas, God’s command be damned, tried to follow.

Then his eyes widened and he let out a cry of anger that shocked the shit out of Dean. And everyone else in the room.

“ _I’m bound_ ,” Cas snarled. The angel looked like Dean usually did before he smashed up a room, and _nope_. Dean braced himself to be hurled across the room, _just in case_ , as he stepped forward and grabbed Cas’s arm. He stopped the flinch that wanted out when Cas turned that face to him.

“Okay, come with me, alright? Let’s get you relaxed,” Dean tried. He had no idea if this would help.

“Hannah is _missing_ , Dean.” Damn, he hated it when his angel said his name like that. “On the heels of a daeva invasion. We need to−”

“Not create another problem for the angels to deal with, okay?” Dean cut him off. Once Cas got into one of his rants, there was no stopping him. “We’ll look for Hannah, together. Team Free Will may be dead but they ain’t _dead_.”

“That makes _no_ sense−”

“Sammy!” Dean turned to his brother with a bright grin. _Help me_. “Samwich! You on Hannah’s case?”

Sam’s eye twitched a bit, but he quickly forced a serene look on his face. [We’re on it. Cas, you should take a break while we find something we can work with.]

Cas seemed to simmer down, but if Dean knew Cas at all . . .

“This is not your fight. All of you, this is supposed to be your eternal rest!”

Yep. Belligerent bastard.

And Dean knew just how to derail that train inside Cas’s head.

“Yeah, well, no rest for the wicked.”

Nailed it. Cas’s brain abandoned ship like it was starring in the Tempest. He latched onto this new bone and left the last one in the yard.

Those are fine metaphors, shut up.

“You aren’t wicked. Your very presence in this realm−”

Third time’s the charm. _Don’t kill me for interrupting again, baby_.

“I would love to discuss this with you _at length_ , Castiel. Perchance, could you help me out with the showerhead?” he steered Cas firmly into the bathroom. Not that he could’ve if Cas didn’t let him.

“Dean, I can’t sit here and relax while Hannah−”

“Yes, you can. I’m gonna make you.”

“Are you, _human_?” Cas had gone all scary angel again. Except it was really fucking−

“ _God_ , I’m so fucking turned on right now,” Dean moaned, latching onto Cas’s wrists and pulling him to sit on the toilet seat.

“Ew! Jerk, shut the damn door before you drop trou,” the moose called out.

“Shut up, bitch!” But Dean did shut the door.

He turned on the faucet, letting it stop just shy of boiling and grabbed the special salt he’d made for his angel. Cas sniffed the air because he was a weirdo. A hot weirdo, but a weirdo nonetheless.

“Is that honey?”

Dean smiled, secretly delighted that Cas at least seemed interested. “Yeah.”

“It smells very nice, Dean. How did you acquire it?”

“I made it,” he mumbled, suddenly shy. Because that was sappy, right? Making Cas honey-scented bath salts was sappy and kinda creepy and embarrassingly domestic.

“You did?” Oh, interesting. Cas had gone all breathy and swoony. _Okay, yes to the sappy and creepy and domestic_.

Dean upended more of it than they probably needed and reached out to pull Cas forward.

“Strip,” he told him, before kneeling to get his pants. When they’d taken care of business down there, Dean shoved up and slowly, oh so slowly, reached under Cas’s shirt, lifting it off his back. He kept his eyes on his angel’s face, just in case he was too rough. Not that that was a bother.

He rolled the shirt over his head and laughed at the way his hair stuck up from the static. “I ruffled you up, birdie!”

“I am not a bird.” That scowl was adorable. Cas was adorable.

“Ain’t ya? You got the wings and you’re just as cute.”

Cas scowled harder, but his eyes were filled with this glint of humor that meant that Dean had won this round.

He made quick work of the patchwork bandages he had slapped on Cas before they’d come across Sam’s socially awkward flailing in the hallway. Cas winced a bit, but at least he didn’t go ballistic from the pain this time.

“Israfil gave me some stuff to put in those. Said it’d speed up the healing,” he admitted as he helped Cas lower himself into the bath. He stared at Cas’s back obsessively, just to make sure he didn’t brush it up against the tile before Dean could take care of that issue.

“Um . . . close your eyes,” Dean squeaked. He felt like an idiot. And the way shit was going these days, he’d probably piss Cas off again.

Cas looked at him like he’d finally lost it. Which was fair. Then he closed his eyes because the day Cas didn’t trust Dean would be the day Bobby stopped wearing dirty hats.

Dean walked to the little panel where he’d hidden the cover beside the towels. He gingerly picked it up by the corners and walked over to the tub again. He ran his eyes over Cas’s rigid form and the swirling water. _This isn’t gonna work_.

“Uh, scooch ahead. Imma climb in behind you.” Again, Cas did as Dean said. And that definitely interested little Dean, but it wasn’t the time.

Careful not to brush against Cas’s cuts, Dean lowered himself into the bath, keeping his underwear on to keep a lid on his burgeoning arousal.

“Stay bent over for a minute, ‘kay?”

Cas nodded silently.

“I’m gonna put something on there, and I need you to not move.”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas sounded hesitant and confused.

Gently, Dean placed the bottom edge of the cover right above where he felt the swell of Cas’s ass. He felt Cas tense up between his thighs, so he pressed them firmly around the angel to lock him down a bit.

Slowly, he rolled up the cover, letting it fall where it did as it gradually clung to Cas’s back. Doing his best not to shake, he prayed the thing would fit and then gently flipped the top, letting it latch on to Cas’s shoulders. He sighed in relief. “We’re done!”

Cas sat up gingerly. “What is that?”

“Does it feel okay?”

“It feels . . .” he saw the angel’s eyes widen. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. What is that?”

“Uh, I don’t really know,” he hadn’t really named it. Shame, really. Names were his forte. “The surgery snuggie? Surge the Snuggie!”

Cas blinked, twitching a bit as he turned and looked at him. “We talked about you naming things.”

“But I’m fucking awesome at it!”

“No, you are not.”

_Asshole._

“It’s like, filled with localized anesthesia jelly and more of those herbs Isra left,” he tried to explain. “And she, like, did something to it which makes it attach to you without bein’ stuck on you. Like magic glue, I guess.”

“This is so gooood, Dean,” Cas moaned, arching up tentatively. “Where did you get it?”

“Uh,” Dean felt his face heat up. “Made it. Like, that blinking thing.”

“You manifested it,” Cas sighed.

“Yeah, like blinked it. And, uh, that’s not all,” he reached out to the covered back in front of him. _Please work, please work, please work._

“It isn’t?”

Cas sounded like he was gonna start ugly sobbing right away.

Dean placed the flat of his palm on Cas’s back and pushed, gradually increasing pressure. Cas felt it halfway through and gasped, “It doesn’t hurt!”

“Yeah, you can lounge back now. Don’t need to change it ‘coz it’s magic. Unless you rip it or something,” Dean promised. He cleared his throat, because Cas’s twisting and turning was giving him an uncomfortable pants sitch.

“Mmmh,” and abruptly, Cas jerked back, putting his weight on Dean and sticking his nose under his jaw.

_Fucking cat._

Dean tried to breathe and scooch back so Cas wouldn’t feel his hard-on probing him in the ass.

_No, don’t think about probing him in the ass._

They sat there in silence as Dean calmed down. He had no clue what Cas was fixating on though. He _hoped_ he was just enjoying the new anesthesia cover.

“Thank you,” Cas whispered after a long time.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean whispered back, not wanting to break the mood.

 _More important shit to do_.

Yeah, yeah.

Dean steeled himself. “We should talk about you and Jack.”

Cas was quiet. Dean resigned himself to giving up when− “When Jack came and rescued me from the Empty . . . he wrapped his wings around me, to shield me.”

Dean smiled fondly at that.

“You must realize . . . wings are an extension of our essences. When angels come in contact with another being’s essence, we can feel the entire mass of it.”

Dean nodded silently, because a dirty joke would be downright gross in this setting.

“That’s why we don’t do it very often,” Cas continued. “Interact with our wings, that is.”

“But you use them all the time with me,” Dean argued.

“Yeah . . .” Cas sighed contently, sliding down further so he could rest his head on Dean’s sternum. Dean relaxed with him, leaning back against the cool surface of the tub. “Well, I enjoy showing myself to you.”

“Kinky,” Dean grinned, closing his eyes to relish the feeling of Cas against him.

“I suppose.”

That made him laugh, “Damn, Sunshine. Your sex ed is goin’ like a rocket ship.”

Cas laughed against him. Dean stayed silent, not wanting to stop the current of joy his angel was swimming with.

“I felt something in his soul. Jack was changed,” Cas admitted. Dean felt his heart catch in his throat. A million flashbacks to his last years on Earth. After Michael had died. But maybe becoming God just came with its soul alterations.

“I mean, he’s got Amara in there, right? And he _did_ eat up Chuck’s power,” Dean suggested. But there was a sinking feeling in his gut. _It was never that simple_.

“No, I don’t think Amara is within his vessel anymore. At least, I think so. He hasn’t told us anything,” Cas frowned. “But power and soul, or essence, with angels . . . they reside in separate vestibules within our vessels. That’s why I was still me when I fell from grace. Why Anna regained her memories.”

Dean nodded, not sure if Cas could even see him.

“Jack’s soul was altered. I worry it was because it was too young to contend with power so much older than itself.”

“What’re you sayin’, Cas?”

“Jack may not be himself anymore, Dean. Not truly,” Cas whispered. Dean’s heart clenched. It was one thing for Sam or him to have their doubts in Jack. But Cas seemed to know what was up with that kid on a subatomic level. They just hummed on the same frequency. But if Cas thought that something had knocked into the dial . . .

“Has he done anything? Maybe it’s not going to be a bad thing. Change ain’t always a bad thing.”

“That’s still Chuck’s power within him, however he may have altered it. And my informants are reliable: Jack _has_ been conversing with Naomi. Almost daily.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. That was definitely bad. That bitch was never up to anything good. But maybe going straight to Jack wasn’t gonna solve the problem this time.

“Do you know what they talk about?”

“Naomi seems to be lulling Jack into a false sense of security.”

“No, Cas, not what you _think_ is happening. What is actually happening?”

Cas huffed, so Dean ran his fingertips up and down his arm. Cas defused instantly.

“She talks about humanity,” Cas readjusted in his grip, sliding up again, letting his head fall back on Dean’s shoulder. “About how she sees them as worthy of admiration. She talks about regret for her actions.”

Dean paused, waiting for the punchline. When nothing came, he cracked an eye open, looking at the cute little frown on Cas’s face. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Cas, I hate to say it−“

“Then don’t.”

“Maybe she’s really changing?”

“I told you not to say it.”

“No, listen,” he sat up a bit, trying to catch Cas’s eyes. “Naomi is one sly bitch, I know. But she doesn’t trick, per se. She didn’t really lie about her evil plans.”

“Oh? Is that how you define wiping my memories and reprogramming me to the point that I did not think twice about laying a hand on you?” Dean tamped down on the chuckles. Cas being annoyed was cute, especially when he immediately started purring like a damn cat when Dean scratched his scalp.

“Don’t be a testy bitch,” Dean chuckled. “I’m not sayin’ you should believe her. Just in case you’re right and she’s playing the long con.”

“What are you saying?”

“I was gonna scream at you for spying on God,” Dean admitted. “That was a dumbass move, seriously.”

“I did it to protect him.”

“I know, I know,” Dean hurried. Cas was sitting up to face him now, looking like a simple head scratch wasn’t gonna defuse him this time. _No, come back_.

“Okay, I need you to listen,” Dean instructed, grabbing his wrists. “What you’re going through right now? I’ve been there. I bet my ass Sam has too.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. It’s like a rite of passage in parenthood. Your kid wants to break out, make his own decisions. And you wanna make sure they’re doin’ the right thing, that it ain’t gonna bite ‘em in the butt later.”

Cas deflated. Good, Dean was getting through. And Cas was actually, maybe agreeing. Halle-fucking-lujah.

“So you’re gonna do the helicopter parent trick.” Head tilt, squinty eyes. “You’re gonna keep your spies working. But make ‘em spy on Naomi. Shadow her. Make sure she ain’t back on her bullshit.”

Cas bit his lip and looked away. Then he looked back and nodded.

“Lay off Jack? Boy, how the tables have turned,” Dean grinned, looking down at Cas’s reddened bottom lip.

Cas pouted. _No stopping me now_. “I just want him to understand.”

“Shut up and come back here,” Dean pulled on his wrists. For a minute, it looked like he would protest. He did, because of course he did. But he scooched back up against Dean.

“Dean, if he knows what precautions−”

Time for some underhanded tricking of his own. Dean reached down and grabbed Cas’s semi. _Ah, fighting turns him on too. Kinky feather-duster._

“ _Oh!_ ” Cas’s voice went like three octaves higher and got all breathy.

“You were saying?” Dean mumbled, grinning against his scruffy neck.

“Uh, that being aware−”

Dean tugged. Insistently. He let his other hand fall between those thighs too, gently brushing against Cas’s balls.

Cas let out a delightful squeak.

“Do go on,” Dean teased.

“Oh, _yes_ , Dean,” and Cas was gone. “Harder.”

“Nah, I wanna hear all your overthinking.” He took hold of Cas more firmly anyway, letting his fist slide over the hard, warm length super slow. Cas growled in impatience, so Dean reached up with his other hand and rubbed a pebbled nipple. Cas mewled like the cat he was.

Dean was still on the fence about drawing this out or letting Cas have it. Then Cas reached back and rubbed the flat of his palm up and down the front of Dean’s underwear. _Well, fuck_.

Dean dropped his head back against the edge of the tub and felt Cas’s warm mouth latch onto his Adam’s apple.

“Cas, feels good.”

“Mmm.” The dork clamped his teeth onto Dean’s skin, shaking his head like a dog and Dean laughed. It was fucking absurd, but it still turned him on. What the hell was this angel doing to him?

“Let me take care of you,” Dean breathed. He ignored Cas’s complaining noises as he sat back up, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him down. His hand that was still loosely wrapped around Cas tightened, and he got down to business. He went hard and fast, then slowed down as soon as Cas started twitching and moaning louder. Just to punish him for being hot as fuck. And every time, Cas would either elbow him in protest or let out a ravaged sob.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Finally, Dean had mercy on the poor guy. He hooked his chin on the curve of Cas’s shoulder, pressing his nose to the point where he could feel Cas’s heartbeat fluttering hard. Cas held on to the arm around his waist for dear life, the other one reaching back to grab Dean’s hair and _tug_.

His eyes were glued to the angel’s face as he stroked harder, tighter. Eyes fluttered shut, thick lashes dark against his sweat slicked skin. Mouth red and lax, harsh pants punching out. Head twisting left and right, eyebrows crinkled in pleasure. Dean mouthed at the soft skin behind his ear, teeth catching on his earlobe and tugging as he started twisting his fist at the end of each upstroke.

“Dean,” Cas started a litany of his name. Nothing else, just his name. Dean felt his mind swirl and his balls tighten. And then he came in his pants.

When he came back, Cas was twisting against him, whimpering, eyes screwed up in pleasure . . . biting his lip and hands gripping hard onto Dean.

“Yeah, baby,” Dean moaned. He let go of his waist, reaching down and under and stroking between his cheeks. Not pushing in, just rubbing up and down, over and over and over again.

Cas yelped, body arching up, tensing even more. He heard a distant crack and hoped the ceiling wouldn’t fall on his head. Dean felt the throb in his fist, and he diligently stroked Cas through his orgasm, littering nips along his neck, his jaw, sucking on his shoulder, tugging on his earlobe.

“Dean,” Cas whispered as his body melted between Dean’s legs. Dean grabbed him around his waist to stop him from sliding under entirely, and he cupped the other palm at the base of his angel’s throat to feel his erratic heartbeat.

It took a while for Cas to come back to him. He signaled it with a soft sigh.

“Good?” Dean smiled, gently brushing his lips against that sweaty cheekbone.

“So, so very good,” Cas slurred. Dean had to agree. “And I fixed the mirror, don’t worry.”

Dean chuckled, “So much bad luck.”

“Mmph?”

“Nothin’, just a silly human superstition,” Dean whispered. He let his lips rest against Cas’s nape, nose buried in the damp strands. He remembered the Bloody Mary case, a lifetime ago. They’d broken so many mirrors that day. Fuck, he wondered if the last fifteen years had something to do with that.

The cold from the bath was leeching in now, so he shimmied back a bit, whispering, “I’m gonna change the water and let you soak for a while. And when you come downstairs, I’m fixin’ you a PB&J and a cold glass of milk. And you’re gonna finish it all, ‘kay?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas was still on happy hormones.

Dean grinned in satisfaction and pulled away, moving to change the bathwater.

When his strolled downstairs, the others had made themselves scarce. _Well, almost_.

“Up top!” Deanna grinned.

_This kid is a horror show._

*****

**_Castiel? Do you hear me? Breaker-breaker or whatever._ **

Cas let out a noise of annoyance before responding, **_Yes, Anael. What is it?_**

**_I . . . may need a hand._ **

He blinked an eye open. That sounded ominous. Especially coming from Anael. Huffing in a resigned manner, he turned his head and looked at Dean’s sleeping form beside him. Even in the near-dark that engulfed the room, he could see the sprinkling of freckles defining the hunter’s shoulders. Giving in to lustful desire, Cas angled ahead till his lips could press against that warm, rough skin. He let himself indulge in the flavor and texture of the skin for a few moments before pulling away with a lamenting sigh.

**_I’m on my way_.**

*****

“Fucking finally!” Anael swore explosively. “What, did you stop by the wing-wash? Picked up some donuts?”

Cas furrowed his brow in consternation, already irritated from having to run instead of flying. “Why did you call me? Was it to exchange acerbic barbs?”

“Exchange, hah!” she sobered quickly. “We have a problem.”

Anael looked mildly guilty. _Well, this is truly alarming_.

She grabbed him by the arm, fist digging into his flesh uncomfortably. She dragged him a few ways away and then looked around as she unlocked an opaque glass door.

_Her quarters_ , he realized belatedly. He had never been.

He followed her inside, casting about a glance to make sure they weren’t being watched. And then he froze.

“Yup,” Anael quipped, though it did nothing to diminish the apprehension in her expression.

“Hannah.”

Cas approached her slowly, taking in her rumpled appearance and the clear indication of fear in her dark eyes. “Hannah? It’s me, Castiel.”

“Yeah, don’t−” whatever Anael intended to say was overshadowed by Hannah’s horrified gasp. Her voice sounded wrecked as she looked him in the eye and cursed, “ _Cassiel_!”

Cas blinked. He was certain there was no angel in creation who had gone by that name.

“Who’s−” he made to ask. But Anael cut him off with a loud shushing sound. “She’ll go ballistic again, and I’d rather not lose more shit to traumatized flailing.”

Cas scowled. He focused on Hannah again, “I’m going to reach out to you, okay? I will not harm you in any way.”

He reached out tentatively, fingers brushing the darker skin of Hannah’s vessel. He held back from interacting with his grace, and slowly cupped the back of Hannah’s palm with his.

“Hannah, can you tell me what you’re thinking of?” Cas tried once more.

No response.

“Hannah?”

“She’s low-key catatonic. Except when she hears your name, I guess,” Anael supplied, unhelpfully.

“Yes, I sussed that out,” Cas bit out. He slowly let his arm move higher, settling upon Hannah’s shoulder. She made a sound like a wounded animal and Cas winced, refusing to let go. Then, a breakthrough: Hannah whispered quietly, “Cassiel.”

“Go ahead,” Cas encouraged.

“ _GOHULIM PAR DE CASARM BAB DE BRANSG ASCO, TRIAN IALPON ASCO_.”*

There was a beat of silence. That utterance was too concise to be a catatonic ramble.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Anael’s voice held a slight tremble.

“Hannah, did you see this angel in the Empty? Have they escaped?” Cas demanded. No one would be burning his son, if he had anything to say about it.

But Hannah was lost again.

“Why would she come to you, and not me?” Cas mused quietly.

“Ouch. I’ll have you know, I can be plenty sensitive,” Anael sneered. Letting Hannah go, Cas turned to face her, schooling his face to that of a commander. Anael stared at him uneasily before she started fidgeting, “Okay. I may have been, like, visiting her in the Garden too.”

Cas blinked. Well, that was wholly unexpected.

“Why?”

Her eyes snapped back to him, filled with palpable defensiveness. “It’s a free realm, Castiel. I can do as I please.”

Cas took a step forwards, hoping to intimidate her into breaking. But she knew it was useless posturing. She smirked, “Go ahead, Cas. Prove the angels right. Harm another of your brethren.”

He seethed. But he wouldn’t do that. As frustrating as Anael was, she was no adversary. He highly doubted she was engaging in anything untoward, mostly because she tended to stay as aloof from angelic interaction as she could afford to.

“Fine,” he accepted. “But she came to you. Will you help me help her?”

Anael made a big show of considering it, but Cas knew she had to agree. Anael was desperate for redemption as well, desirous of the protection that came with finding at least one faction in Heaven. And perhaps she had decided that she wanted to join the side that had an Archangel.

“What’s in it for me?” she persisted in making a big production of it.

“Well, I’m sure the favor of God and the only Archangel left would be a worthy compensation,” he bluffed. Anael caught his lie, laughing, “You don’t think I know _God_ has you bound? How dumb do you think I am?”

“We may be at odds at the moment, but I’m sure when push comes to shove . . . Jack and I have a bond that predates his existence.”

She saw the flicker of doubt in her eye.

“We’re still going behind His back, aren’t we?”

_Lay your cards on the table_ , he heard Caricature-Dean comment. He complied.

“Yes.”

“Well, fuck. How do we do this?” Anael wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“I’ll take her to my home. And you should pray to Jack, tell him you’ve found Hannah. That she came to you. You visited her during her recuperation in the garden and you forged a friendship,” Cas formulated.

“So . . . basically embellished truth?”

“He’ll see through any lies.”

“And pray tell, how he won’t see that I’ve let you stash her at your place?”

“Because you don’t know.” He leveled a significant look at her. “You have no surety of where she could be. Just that she’s with me.”

She nodded. Then she widened her eyes, “I’m sorry, Jack. She just vanished. I don’t know where she is!”

“And he won’t ask you with whom.” Cas nodded.

“And she was afraid of someone . . . sounded like an angelic name. But I’d never heard of it.”

“Yes, that helps,” Cas nodded, commending her quick thinking.

She nodded, pleased. As he moved past her to reach Hannah, she stopped him, “Don’t tell me anything I don’t need to know. And if you get me kicked out of this new Heaven? I’ll kick you out of existence, Castiel. I have friends in low places who’d love some crispy fried wings.”

Cas let out a chuckle. He was becoming fond of her. “Of course.”

And he placed a hand on Hannah’s and led her away.

*****

Sam Winchester was straight-up not having a good time.

First, his brother had pulled him back into Heaven’s drama. And then, his angel-in-law had jumped in with his genius plan and fucked everything even more.

Meanwhile, Dean looked like he was sucking on a lemon. But at least his eye wasn’t twitching anymore. Sam’s was.

“What are you doing?” he grit out.

“I need to find out who this angel is, Sam,” Cas tried to pull out the puppy dog eyes, but that was Sam’s game. No one was beating him at it.

“I get that. _Why_ , are you doing it in secret and hiding it from the most powerful being in the universe?”

“Cas! WHAT THE HELL!”

There he was. Dean had blown his top off. Unfortunately for Hannah.

She let out a strangled scream and tried to run away. But Cas held on. There was just this tiny problem: Cas didn’t want to hurt Hannah. Hannah had no qualms of that kind.

He heard Cas yelp as she clawed at whatever skin she could reach, teeth snapping to try and catch anything she could. Before Sam could move and help (though he wouldn’t be much help anyway), Deanna shot past him, screaming, “Cas, hold her still a minute!”

“I’m trying!” Cas gasped.

He managed to wrestle them onto the ground, just as Hannah reached for his back.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

Great. Now Dean was jumping in, trying to catch Hannah’s hand.

Meanwhile, Deanna tossed an empty syringe away and dove back in. And repeated.

And one more time.

By the time Hannah finally fell into sleep, Dean’s hand looked puffy and raw, littered with blood and loose flaps of skin. Cas looked no better. He flopped onto the ground, face screwed up in pain. Sam winced in sympathy.

“Dean, let me get that,” Cas groaned.

“You first, what’s wrong with you?” Dean groaned in reply.

Idiots.

Cas made a frustrated _humph_ and slapped his hand onto Dean’s wrist, instantly healing it. He flopped back down on the ground, “I’m just winded. I’m not truly hurt.”

The Winchesters appraised him critically until Dean shrugged. Okay, then.

The brothers hauled Cas to his feet and between the three of them, they got Hannah into the guest room.

Of course, the other shoe dropped on cue.

“Hello!”

Team Free Will looked at each other in alarm before Cas slapped a palm onto their mouths.

He closed his eyes and Sam heard, **_Don’t move_** _._ He looked over to Dean to confirm Dean was hearing Cas too. Good, not a hallucination, then. **_I can’t see Jack. He can read our minds at will. He can’t do that to humans, even dead ones. So I will tamper with your memories and you will send him on his way_** _._

Sam’s nostrils flared in annoyance. He made to lick Cas’s palm, before he saw the angel’s eyes roll up in his head. Alarmed, he froze, looking over at Dean. Except Dean had his eyes closed too.

Was he missing something? Should he close his eyes too? Did Cas forget to alter Sam’s memories as well? Was he doing it one by one?

**_Sam, please stop overthinking so loudly. No, Dean insists that as hunters, you’re well practiced with ‘bluffing.’_ **

How did air quotes come across in telepathy?

**_Please, please don’t fuck this up._ **

Nodding somberly, Sam very deliberately parted his lips and licked a wide swath up Cas’s palm. Cas, damn him, just stared at him, tilting his head. So Sam went with a more hands-on approach and ripped Cas’s arm away. He turned to the door and slipped out, ignoring what was definitely a borderline erotic eye-fucking session behind him.

“Hi, Sam!” Jack smiled. Sam returned his smile, happy to see the kid despite the tense atmosphere. “Hi, Dean!”

“Hey, kid.”

Good, Dean was done with his intense staring match.

“I’m going to college!”

Sam’s smile fell.

What. The. Fuck.

*****

“Explain it to us, again. Like we’re dumb as shit,” Dean had forced Jack into a chair at the dining table and started posturing.

Jack pouted. And that was a weird thing to say about God.

“I’m going to college and I need Castiel, who’s my parent legally-ish, to fill up some documents. Oh! And if he’s free, he can come tour the campus with me,” Jack sighed.

“I don’t think Dean means that part, Jack,” Sam sighed too. “We’re mostly wondering why. Like, you do have some important stuff to do right now.”

“Yeah!” Dean exploded. “Like running the freaking universe!”

“I think I get it,” and enter stage Deanna, Hunter Shrink Extraordinaire. She popped her gum and dragged a chair before Jack, straddling it. “You think the uni experience will help.”

“Yes,” Jack smiled a relieved smile.

“And you want to develop your mind. Better it, if you will.”

“Yes.”

“Plus, the experience of dealing with different sorts of people by yourself.”

“Yes.”

“You totally swallowed a college brochure before making this decision.”

“Uh . . .” Jack looked alarmed. “I mean, I read it.”

Sam and Dean groaned.

“Why, Jack?” Dean tried, taking a calming breath. That alone gave Sam goosebumps. Was Dean growing up?

“Keggers.” Deanna grinned. Sam developed an ulcer.

“I was thinking about what Cas said . . .” Jack ignored her.

“This again?” Dean groaned.

“And I thought, maybe he’s right, I need to adapt my thinking. Perhaps constantly.”

“Definitely constantly,” Deanna chimed.

“So, I went to Naomi.”

“ _What_?” the brothers exclaimed. And Sam added, “Why?”

“She’s changed her thinking recently. I thought she’d have some ideas,” Jack said, eyes going big and innocent.

“Oh, I bet she does,” Dean muttered beside him.

“But she said everyone was different. That each consciousness was unique, even mine, which might be an amalgamation now.”

Dean looked cross-eyed. Sam felt the same. But Deanna was nodding so he followed her lead.

“And Naomi said that she had made friend. A ‘Professor of Philosophy’ and he let her sit in his class. And she learnt something new every minute.”

Makes sense. Jack’s decision to abandon work? Still a bit foggy.

“Oh, great. God’s going to be getting his degree in Philosophy, folks. Hold on, this one’s gonna be a wild ride,” Dean’s voice had an edge of hysteria.

“Oh, no. I’m not sure about that yet. They said I could take a few classes and decide my major by my third year. I have a general admission.”

“Great,” Dean repeated. “He’s got a general admission.”

“Okay, hold on, Jack,” Sam stepped in. Dean was clearly going to be useless. “School’s a lot of work. And you’ve got a high demand, full-time job running the world as it is.”

“Well, I took a seminar on that,” Jack grinned. “And they suggested I delegate duties. So I put Uncle Gabriel in-charge of main office and monitoring Heaven.”

_This is going to end very badly._

“And I came to reinstate Cas. To head defense and look into the daeva situation.”

“Oh, hell no,” Dean snapped. Then he continued, calmer, “Jack, Cas is still pretty fucked up from your leave-without-pay number, okay? Give him some time. And I’m not letting him look into the daevas. You know why.”

Sam cast a look of caution at his brother, worried Jack would find out about Hannah if Jack read his mind or whatever. When Jack seemed none the wiser, he sighed in relief. Obviously, he’d underestimated Dean’s compartmentalization skills.

“Oh,” Jack breathed, face paling. “I’ve been overworking him, haven’t I? I’m sorry, I just . . . I don’t really . . . trust any of the other angels as much as I trust Cas. I mean, I guess I can ask Naomi. But Cas seemed worried about her.”

“No,” Dean barked. “Don’t ask Naomi.” He looked at Sam.

Time to get back on the horse.

Sam nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

Jack relaxed. “Are you sure?”

“Just another hunt,” Dean shrugged.

Great. A hunt.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _Said they, who had the ability to shield this God, would burn this God._
> 
> Enochian based on John Dee's version; I found a dictionary and went nuts. Might be an imperfect translation, but eh.


	5. Chapter 5

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Dean closed his eyes as he listened to the rhythmic beat of Cas’s heart. It was kind of a rare treat, given that Dean still slept like a hunter: still. Cas, on the other hand, tended to be an octopus. Castopus?

So the angel would cling to Dean in his sleep, and they naturally adapted to a new sleeping position: Dean, flat on his back, save for his arms which were always wrapped around Cas. Cas, head resting on Dean’s chest, trying to burrow into Dean’s ribs through his sternum.

Except the nights when Cas would be exceptionally tired. Then he’d have a nightmare and wake up shaking, and on the bad days, crying. Nights like that, it was a toss-up. But if Cas did manage to get to sleep, he’d squash Dean to him. And Dean would feel the warm, otherworldly weight of Cas’s wings, as corporeal as he agreed to make them.

He hummed, waiting. Because when Cas went into deep enough sleep, Dean would feel the stiff yet soft texture of feathers and smell the scent of those wings. Lightning and the smell of rain. Cas’s real scent. The one Dean could never quite bottle into bath salts.

So he waited.

Then he got what he was waiting for. So he smiled, nuzzled into Cas’s chest and drifted.

He woke up to see dark eyes staring at them and he jolted, vaulting off the bed with practiced ease. Behind him, Cas snorted awake and slapped his hand into the switch panel beside their bed. The room lit up and Dean relaxed a teeny bit.

“Hannah,” Cas huffed. “What is it?”

“Cassiel.”

Cas jumped up too.

_Right, the super bad guy who may or may not exist._

“Where? Is he here?” Cas demanded, manifesting his blade.

“Cassiel,” Hannah nodded.

“Can you tell me where?” Cas approached her slowly.

“Cassiel,” and this time Hannah looked confused.

“Hannah? Are you with me?”

Dean tuned their conversation out. There was something about this. It was vaguely familiar.

“Cassiel,” Hannah insisted. That intonation. There was something about it.

_ZIR NOCO IAD Gadreel_.

Shit.

“Cas!” Dean snapped urgently, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. “Cas, I think her mind’s been hacked.”

“What?” Cas spun around to face him, eyes widening in terror.

“Listen to her. Just listen.”

On cue, “Cassiel.”

They stayed silent, waiting.

“Cassiel.”

“ _GOHULIM PAR DE CASARM BAB DE BRANSG ASCO, TRIAN IALPON ASCO_ ,” Cas whispered.

“ _IALPON LAN_ ,” Hannah answered. Cas frowned.

“What?” Dean demanded impatiently.

“That, that doesn’t make sense,” Cas murmured. Dean shook him urgently.

“ _ASCO_ means ‘this God’,” Cas explained. Dean nodded. Ergo, murderous angel out to get Jack.

“But now she’s saying LAN . . . ‘the first god’. The words have changed.” Cas whispered.

“Chuck?” Dean whispered back, trying not to trigger the creepy angel again.

“I think so . . .” Cas turned back to Hannah. “ _G CASARM NOAN A BRANSG_?”*

“Cassiel,” Hannah replied. Cas nodded, so he got what he was looking for. “ _Cassiel DOBIX_.”**

Cas frowned again. He turned to Dean, “She . . . says that the killer is Cassiel, undoubtedly. And that Cassiel fell, I believe? That or whoever they were perished in the Fall.”

“Cassiel,” Hannah insisted. Dean wanted to ram her head on the wall.

“Okay, so they fell. They’re not dead,” Cas sighed. “That complicates our situation.”

“You’re telling me.”

Dammit, Dean just needed one night. One night before he went back to the hunt.

While hiding it from his overprotective angel boyfriend.

“Hannah, let’s get you back to your room,” Cas whispered.

Dean followed them out, and Cas gave him an appraising look. Yeah, no way was he letting Cas go alone with a kickstart-able rabid oracle. Who’d definitely had a major fucking crush on _his_ angel. They sat her down on the bed and shut the door behind them. Then Cas paused.

“What?” Dean hissed.

“If she was hacked, as you so delicately put it,” Cas whispered. “You know what that points to.”

It was too goddamn early. Or late, whichever.

“No, Cas, please enlighten me.”

“Dean, who, in all of Hell, knew how to hack into angels?”

“Uh, Crowley, but he’s dead. And I guess those assholes who killed Hannah,” Dean rummaged through years of memories. Cas nodded.

“And those angels are dead,” Cas whispered. “Which leaves Crowley.”

“Uh, no it doesn’t. Crowley’s dead,” Dean hissed.

“No, Crowley’s in the Empty,” Cas hissed. “Or maybe not anymore, we don’t know.”

“What, you tellin’ me he found a nifty little corner where he tortured angels?”

“Okay, maybe not that,” Cas bit his lip. Dean tried to make himself think harder. _Ideas, ideas_ . . .

“Dean?” Cas sounded quieter. _That’s not a happy tone._

“Yeah?”

“What if . . . the angel who summoned the daevas is the same person who hacked Hannah?”

“I’m assuming it is,” Dean muttered. If they had more moles in here, Dean would just advise Jack to wipe the slate clean.

“So this angel would have had ties to Crowley.”

_No way. Fuck. No fucking way._

“I’m the only angel alive who did,” Cas whispered.

“Cas!” Dean said sharply, making the angel jump. “No one’s going to believe you hurt Hannah, okay? You went all rabid and _killed_ the angels who did her in.”

“I think you overestimate the angels’ faith in me,” Cas whispered, slowly backing away till he hit the wall, then sliding down to the floor.

“We need to find that mole,” Dean whispered.

*****

“Where the fuck is that smarmy asshole?” Dean growled.

“Calm your voluptuous breasts, Deanie,” that smarmy asshole said.

Dean scowled.

“What? I said ‘voluptuous’,” he snarked. “Even though it’s not quite true, is it Cas?”

“Dean’s chest is adequate,” Cas growled as he spun to face Balthazar.

“Not the goddamn point,” Dean groaned, face heating up. “Where the hell were you?”

“I was just fetching this lovely gift for you.” Dean spun around, abandoning the loose thread on the couch. Balthazar was holding the−

“No!” Cas shouted. Sam jolted where he was on the couch. Dean would’ve laughed, except he had more important things to focus on.

“No, Balthazar; put that away,” Dean snapped.

“Fine, fine. Just thought it’d come handy,” with a wave, the angel-hacking crown disappeared.

“Where did you even get that, Balthazar?” Sam mused.

“Well, I found it in Cassie’s little office he never uses,” Balthazar droned, leveling a look at Cas. Cas reeled back, and Dean opened his mouth to protest as well. But Balthazar wasn’t done, “Oh, I _know_ it wasn’t yours. Obviously, someone’s caught on and planted the device there. Quite likely, the one who’s been prodding our angels in the unsexy manner. I assume you, with your monogamy and all that, weren’t the one, Castiel?”

“Thank you, brother,” Cas visibly relaxed beside him.

“You aren’t off the hook, yet. Don’t get comfy.”

And his angel stiffened again. “Of course. I didn’t expect to be.”

“Good! Now, roll-call,” Gabriel butted in, obviously thirsting from the lack of attention. He spun around, pointing to the people he named:-

“Heaven’s Cutest Cinnamon Roll!” Alfie. Dean wanted to tell him to stop smiling, it’d only encourage the dumbass.

“The veteran returning to war!” Sam. _Eh, kinda accurate_.

“The highest functioning alcoholic to ever alcohol!” Balthazar, who looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

“Gender-swapped Dean!” Deanna grinned.

“Our Knight in Shining Flannel!” Dean. Sure, whatever.

“Of course, our Femme Fatale!” Cas. Okay, that one was funny, if only because of the look that graced the angel’s face.

“And finally, your ace up the sleeve, whose tactical prowess is only mildly overshadowed by his ginormous−”

“Are you quite finished,” Cas grunted. _Thank God for small mercies._

“ _Au contraire_ , I think he’s just winding up,” Balthazar noted.

“Okay, you all need to shut up and listen,” Dean barked. “ _Before_ Jack notices you’re all missing from your posts.”

“Ugh, fine,” Gabe pouted. “So, we’re in a pickle. Well, mostly Cas is.” He lunged at said angel, grabbing him in a headlock. “But dontchu worry, kiddo! _We’re all in this together_ −”

Alfie, bless his little wiener hat, interrupted Gabe’s warbling attempt at song. “Um, I do have news . . . on Naomi, Castiel.”

“Yes, Samandriel. Please,” Cas looked vaguely panicked. So Dean reached over and pinched Gabe above the elbow, making him release Cas in surprise.

“She has been spending time in the nursery. With the fledglings. She visits them daily, sometimes even twice a day.”

Cas frowned. “I though she hated the fledglings. And they have certainly made their disliking of her clear.”

“Are we referring to what Gabe so delicately dubbed the ‘Pee of Fire Incident’?” Balthazar dropped his two-pence, strolling over to the alcohol cabinet.

“Yes,” Alfie’s lip twitched. “And because of the protective wards, I can’t really see what she’s doing in there. But she’s in and out really fast.”

“I highly doubt she’s warming up to the angel-bies,” Deanna chimed in, legs waving in the air from where she was sprawled on a couch.

“Oh yeah, she’s stashing something,” Sam muttered. Dean nodded.

“Okay, Samandriel, keep watch. Perhaps you can ‘chance’ upon her in the nursery once or twice?” Cas instructed. Alfie nodded, leaning back against a wall. Cas turned to Gabriel, “Do you still have grace to expend on masking Samandriel?”

_Huh. Well that was smart._

Gabe nodded. Then he opened his mouth so Dean hurried to cut him off.

“Okay, onto−” Dean started, turning to the pile of loose papers from Sammy’s me time.

“Well, isn’t this domestic. Family dinner?”

_Okay, this house is at max capacity for asshole winged dicks._

“Anael,” Cas spun to face her. “What are you doing with that?”

“Oh, relax,” she grimaced, waving the glass vial around. “It’s not for any of you; it’s for Hannah.”

The speed with which the other angels crowded her was mind-boggling. Cas growled low in his throat, which was really distracting, but Jo held her arms up in mock surrender. “Chill, bros. And by the way, isn’t your angelic Dream-Team a little heavy on the testosterone?”

“Cut the sass, sis. We’re not letting you harvest Hannah’s grace. Kid’s traumatized enough as it is,” Gabe sounded serious, so that was good.

“Look, you need to chill. Hear me out, then threaten me with your penises if you don’t like it,” Jo rolled her eyes, walking around the row of angels and striding up to the side of the room. A whiteboard manifested there. She drew an empty flowchart and turned to her audience, eyebrow cocked, “Ready?”

No one answered.

“Good,” she turned back and wrote ‘Hannah ---> Cassiel’ in the first box. “So, two birds with one stone. We purify Hannah’s grace. She, hopefully, gets better and remembers who fucked with her mind. That way, we can actually get around to see where the Cassiel shit started.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. Short and sweet had a lot of holes in it. He glanced at his brother and his angel, to see if they were having computing errors with step 1 too. They were, and Sam voiced his issue, “How do you plan to purify _grace_? Isn’t it pure already?”

“Yeah, and how will purifying grace help mend her mind?” Dean added. “Aren’t they like, two different vestibules or whatever?”

He saw Cas suppress a cute little smile.

“Okay, back to the start,” Jo sighed, arms waving about as she explained. “Grace is always maintaining an angel’s vessel, even the new Lite version. Agree?”

The male angels nodded.

“Ergo, her mind’s been hacked but hasn’t healed _because_ something’s hindering her grace.”

_Okay . . . guess that makes sense._

“And if we get her mind back in order, we can see if she remembers why she got hacked. Maybe even who hacked her. And if she knows a Cassiel, because as far as I know, Hannah was not a frequent patient of Naomi’s.”

Her eyes roved over Cas as she said that and Dean bristled.

“Fine, say your plan has a chance of working,” Balthazar mused. “How would we even go about purifying grace?”

“Witches are, by virtue, damned. None have made it to heaven,” Jo continued as though she hadn’t heard Balthazar. Which was pretty satisfying in itself. “Until, of course,” she spun to point a finger, “Rowena’s apprentice.”

Sam seemed to shrivel in shock, “ _Me_?”

“I’m pointing to you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know how to purify an angel’s grace!”

“Well, that’s your issue.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Cas cut him off, “ _Why_ are you helping us? I know you didn’t grow a moral compass all of a sudden.”

“Don’t be absurd, Castiel,” she grinned a private grin. “I’m helping myself.”

Dean shook his head, trying to connect the dots. Nope, no connection. The signal was lost as fuck.

“Okay, back up, princess,” Dean interrupted. “How is this helping yourself?”

“Where do I start? The obvious stuff?” Dean rolled his eyes at her smug look. “Well, simpleton, I don’t need a broken angel latching on to me. Especially one so tightly wound up with your little band. Paints a bit of a target on my back if angels think I’m consorting with the Castiel’s-bitches faction.”

“Hey!” Gabe protested.

“And second, I want something I return, or else I march to Jack and blow your cover.”

“Unnecessary. I foresaw this coming,” Cas stepped ahead. “What do you want?”

“I want a hunting buddy, of sorts,” she looked at Balthazar. “Someone with expertise in _acquiring_ items of a certain value.”

“You want an angelic thief on your payroll,” Balthazar rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I’m allegiant enough to this merry band to subject myself to your company?”

“Oh, I think you’ll join me when you hear the other part of the deal. We split the acquisitions. Some for you, some for me.”

“Balthazar,” Cas stepped forward, eyes flitting between said angel and Jo. “You don’t owe me this, especially after . . . I know you’ve joined us because deep down, you have a righteous heart and−”

“Oh stop it, Cas. You’ll tarnish my image,” Balthazar cast a look around the room. “Fine, I’ll join you, Anael. If only because I have certain items that I have an eye on myself.”

Jo grinned, satisfied. “We’ll be having many adventures, partner.” She turned and tossed the vial to Sam, who fumbled to catch it. “Don’t sit on your ass too long, Winchester.”

And she was gone.

When Dean looked back at the other angels, he realized Balthazar was gone too. He blew out a breath. “This ain’t gonna end well.”

*****

Jack was troubled. And it wasn’t because of his new job. He just couldn’t deal with more choices. So many choices.

He stared at the laptop screen, the list of open classes endless and complicated.

He didn’t know what to do. He wished he could just go to Cas and ask for his help with this, except that Dean was right. He _was_ asking for a lot from Castiel these days. Even more since rescuing him from the Empty. Was Cas just helping him to pay off a debt?

So he wouldn’t ask Cas for anything, for as long as he could.

It would make sense to ask Naomi, since she was the one who suggested this in the first place.

Jack hesitated, reaching out with his consciousness. Oh, Naomi was visiting the fledglings. It could be a while.

**_Jack, I can sense your discomfort . . . come to me._ **

Right, Amara. She did say she’d help him with _anything_. Jack went to her.

When he landed, he was not in Asia, as he expected to be.

He was in a bar. In _Scotland_?

“Ah, you must be Jack,” a man said. He was lounging against the worn leather of the seat, finger pressing a piece of ice down onto the table. “Welcome to the fatherland.”

Jack senses the waft of Amara’s essence exuding off the British man. She was masking him. But from who?

“Jack! It’s so good to see you,” Jack turned as Amara greeted him with a warm hug. She pulled away, cocking an eyebrow at the British man. “I see you’ve met my companion.”

The man stepped out of the booth and walked over to Jack, extending an arm. He was shorter than he seemed. “Crowley.”

Jack accepted his hand, shaking it slowly, still not sure about the proper way to do a handshake.

“You’re the King of Hell,” Jack realized. “You . . . I thought you were dead. Castiel told me you sacrificed yourself for Sam and Dean.”

“Ah, that silly halo,” Crowley chuckled. “Always trying to tarnish my reputation. It’s why I dropped him like a hot potato after our roll in the hay.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine that Cas had ever been with Crowley . . . that way. He tried to peek into Crowley’s soul, but Amara was still cloaking him. He assumed Crowley wasn’t lying, though. Why would he?

“I see you’re quite befuddled by my miraculous resurrection,” Crowley stepped back, waving his arm. A glass of alcohol materialized in his hand and he offered it to Jack. Jack was really, really confused.

Amara seemed to be thinking the same thing, but she huffed in annoyance, “You _could_ just walk to the bar.”

“Let me have my fun, sweetheart,” he turned back to Jack. “ _Retired_ King of Hell, if you will. After rescuing me from my hag of a mother, Amara very generously offered to protect me from her. Masking my musk, essentially.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow at Amara and she shrugged. “I enjoyed his wit. So, I decided to get myself some company of my world tour.”

“When you say hag, aren’t you talking about Rowena?” Jack liked Rowena. She’d always been gentle and maternal to him.

“Well . . .” the demon looked at him strangely, before his expression changed. “It’s an endearment, lad. My mother and I had a complicated relationship before my tragic demise . . . the second one, of course.”

He gestured to the glass in Jack’s hand. Jack looked down at it before slowly raising it to his lips. He took a sip. It was an odd, tasteless flavor that made his eyes water a bit. Crowley looked happier though, so Jack didn’t say anything.

“I am eternally grateful for her birthing me. We are similar, you and I. Scared little boys, destined for greatness, losing our mothers at very tender ages,” Crowley swung an arm around Jack’s neck.

“Crowley . . .” Amara’s voice had a note of caution.

“Oh, relax, love,” he started pulling Jack along. “Tell me, Jack. Have you ever been to a castle?”

*****

“How confident are you about this longshot of yours, _mon ami_?”

Castiel felt sweat prickle at his temple. He concentrated on keeping the fine layer of his grace around his friend. “It’s not a longshot.”

“Of course, of course,” Balthazar’s tone held an irksome note of condescension. “Jumping into this situation at the say-so of an angel who’s exceptionally green around the collar? The _definition_ of a great plan. Are you quite sure you’re not projecting?”

“Balthazar,” Cas ground his teeth. “If you’re so in doubt, why did you agree to accompany me?”

“Anael was getting on my nerves. And I will admit, bothering you has always been a hobby.”

Castiel ignored that comment, if only for his sanity. He peeked around the edge of the hallway they’d emerged from. The row of closed office doors remained unchanged. The situation was the same on the other side. He closed his eyes, trying to reach out with more of his grace. It was draining, but perhaps he could . . .

His eyes snapped open as he felt arms around his shoulder.

“If you faceplant, our cover will be blown,” Balthazar hissed.

“I won’t be planting my face,” Cas insisted, though he was convinced otherwise.

“Oh, come off it,” Balthazar hissed. Cas ignored him, letting his awareness expand again. Vaguely, he heard a mumbled, “We both know you understand popular culture well enough. You’re just a massive little shit.”

_There_.

He came back to himself, watching intently till he saw Naomi emerge from the nursery and depart without noticing them. _Small mercies._

“Oxymoron,” Cas quipped cheekily, before darting out and running into the nursery as quietly as he could. Balthazar wasn’t far behind him.

The angels stood, surveying the room full of about fifteen fledglings, all in varied states . . . sleeping, crawling, flapping and cooing. His eyes lingered on a couple, before he purposefully stalked to the corner of the room across from him. Without being prodded, Balthazar had followed his lead, approaching the next corner.

Cas crouched low and expanded his grace again, one hand braced against the wall. He searched for any traces of Naomi’s grace in his area. When he opened his eyes again, Balthazar had moved on to the third corner. Cas followed his lead, somewhat reluctantly, and approached the final corner.

_Please be this corner._ His plan would be of no consequence if they couldn’t find−

“ _Cas_!” Balthazar hissed. He gestured frantically. “I found it.”

As Cas darted over to his friend, he realized Balthazar had not only found the traces of grace, but also Naomi’s hiding place. The angels pried open the crooked panel on the floor. Half a vial of grace shone through the hole in the wall.

Cas stared at the grace, feeling an odd tugging sensation in his gut. He frowned at the vial, making to reach out and _consume it. I must consume it_.

Except the light disappeared. He blinked at Balthazar’s closed palm, “What are you doing?”

“Me? What in bloody hell are _you_ doing? We need to leave,” he stared at him as though Castiel had grown another head. He was right, of course. They needed to get back to the boys. Shaky on his feet, he stumbled behind Balthazar.

“Can you fly again?” Balthazar whispered. Cas nodded. Futilely. He amended, “Yes.”

“Okay, let’s get to the basement before you uncloak me.”

They ran, quiet and cautious, across the hallway and to the stairwell. As Cas bounded down the stairs behind Balthazar, he felt an odd flutter in his chest. _Elation_.

By the time they reached the basement, Cas was smiling. He turned to his friend, grabbing his arm to garner his attention, “Thank you, Balthazar.”

Balthazar peered at him, before snorting, “I’d say you always have me, but that didn’t end quite well for me last time.”

Cas sobered, instantly awash with guilt. He let his hand fall, but looked Balthazar in the eye, “I’m sorry for hurting you. I thought you had betrayed me, but the only betrayal happening was by my hand.”

“Yes, you literally stabbed me in the back,” he began. Castiel paused, waiting for the rest of it. Except Balthazar sighed, “Never you mind, let’s get this to your hunters.”

Cas frowned, somewhat disappointed that the air wouldn’t be cleared. But he nodded, bracing himself for flight, “Of course.”

“Wait, Cas,” this time Balthazar grabbed his arm. He met Cas’s eyes, “There _is_ something I’d love to get off my chest, if you’re amendable.”

Cas nodded, relief filling his−

There was debris cocooning his vessel, where he’d landed through the wall across from where they were standing. Cas blinked rapidly, trying to clear the disruptions across his vision. He dared not move his head, for fear of throwing up. When the world came back into focus, he saw Balthazar before him, shaking a blood-splattered knuckle out. His other hand was extended towards Castiel.

“Well, let’s head back to the Mothership, shall we?”

Cas groaned, reaching out so his friend could pull him up to his feet.

“I must say, I feel invigorated. Consider yourself forgiven, Cassie ol’ love.”

“I certainly hope so,” Cas muttered, still trying to get his bearings. He may have left the floor but his vision seemed to be convinced otherwise. “Having been stabbed in the back myself, I can assure you that that was far more unpleasant.”

Balthazar laughed heartily, reaching out to grab him around the waist, “It just wouldn’t do if I let you drive in your state. Fancy a cab?”

And he took flight by the time Castiel figured out what he meant. The world slumped sideways again, but he bent his knees in anticipation of landing regardless.

“Catch! And . . . here you go, you depilated anthropoid. One wayward angel, expressly delivered.”

_That’s not very nice._

“The hell?”

_Oh . . . hello, Dean. So lovely to hear your voice._

“He’s mildly concussed, but I’m sure you have ample experience with knocked heads. Toodle-oo, darling!”

The wall holding him up disappeared with a rush of displaced atoms and Cas felt himself teetering. But then something warm, soft and firm was engulfing him. It was Dean. Cas would always recognize Dean. Perhaps they should get a dog. Cas was fond of dogs.

“Dean!” Cas gasped. “You like dogs, too!”

“Dammit, Castiel,” Dean sounded winded. Cas tried to focus on his hunter. _Ah, there he is. So beautiful._ “What are you jabbering about, dumb bitch?”

“We can get a bitch,” Cas agreed. Of course, he had no preferences himself. “But I can acquire your old dog for you too. He must be in Heaven somewhere . . .”

There was an odd thumping sound and Cas felt amazing. His vision was filled with white and his feet were in the air, and he did not care.

He’d get two dogs for Dean, if Dean wanted two dogs.

It would be symmetry, having a dog of each sex. As symmetrical as Dean’s face.

Dean’s face was, of course, not nearly as breathtaking as his soul. But Cas was very attached to the face as well . . .

He fell asleep recounting every detail of his hunter’s face.

*****

Sam was trying not to hack up a lung as he choked against the intrusion in his throat. What even happened to souls that died in Heaven? He thought of his wife and daughter, and then his brother, and Bobby, and Mom . . .

Fuck, they’d all be rolling on the floor laughing at his funeral-funeral if he died choking on a plastic pen cap.

“Oh my God, Sam,” Eileen was shaking in laughter even as she ran across the room, grabbing a bottle of water. “Swallow it! Like a pill!”

“Yeah, Dad, gotta swallow,” Deanna _looked_ worried. She just _sounded_ vaguely smug. There was no way she wouldn’t tell Dean about this little incident. For a brief moment, Sam wondered if survival was worth the embarrassment.

“Shut up,” he choked out, swallowing big mouthfuls from the glass Eileen had handed him. His eyes watered and he gasped, finally feeling the lump dislodge and travel down his food pipe.

“Better?” Eileen was full on grinning now. It was great to know how seriously they valued life in the Winchester-Leahy household.

“Fuck you both,” Sam murmured, shoving off the floor and darting back to his laptop.

“That’s not very nice,” Deanna teased. “What would Gramma say?”

Sam scowled, ignoring the tittering behind his back.

“Though I guess she’d be more interested in the fact that you got so lost in research you _swallowed a pen cap_.”

That grabbed his attention, so he spun back around, employing the puppy eyes he’d taught Cas back after the Leviathan business. “Okay, how much do I have to pay you to keep this a family secret?”

“Gramma’s family,” she pointed out, grinning in a way that made her look like a spitting image of his brother. Oh God, _his brother_.

“Okay, just . . . can we _please_ not tell Dean? I’m begging you, as your father. I wiped your ass when you shat yourself. I paid for college. I scared off creepy boys. I bought you that bike of yours and didn’t tell Mom!”

“You did _what_?”

Oops.

[I mean, that was a long time ago?] Sam tried, edging back to his laptop, where it was safe and happy and good.

[I can’t believe you lied to me all our lives! I can’t believe you bought our daughter a death-trap!] Eileen signed furiously, crushing the empty water bottle.

[I’m sorry! But she asked me not to tell you!]

[And that went well!]

He caught Deanna frantically shaking her head out the corner of his eye and turned and frowned at her. Except she was looking at her mother. Sam paused. _Oh._

He’d asked Deanna not to tell him how she’d died. But Eileen had wanted to know.

Fuck. That meant he’d killed his daughter, basically.

“Dad,” he looked back at her sharp tone. “Don’t.” She nodded to his workspace. “Any luck?”

“No,” he muttered. The thudding noise in his ears calmed a bit.

Breathe. Focus.

Can’t do much about it now, can you?

Eileen has calmed down as well, and she offered him a small smile, moving back to her workstation. She picked up another mold and started pouring in the melted angel blade. Sam watched her hands work for a little while, fixating on the grimy smudges along her knuckles.

“Maybe you can take a break?” he turned back to Deanna at her suggestion.

“No, no,” he shook his head, turning back to the article he’d been reading. “I just need to figure out a couple more steps. I think. Not like we can do a trial run.”

“Hm . . . you should still take a break, ya’ know. Fresh eyes and all.”

Sam hummed in response, writing out a new combination for the spell ingredients. Because, stupid, that last one is completely fucked for order. Why would you put lamb’s blood in _before_ the Lethe river water?

He heard the light movement of material behind him, indicating Deanna and Eileen were signing behind his back. Whatever, he had more important shit to focus on and not enough time to do it. And Cas _had_ to go ahead and pick up the slack. Sam wasn’t being competitive, he was just unsettled because he usually made the first breakthrough on a hunt.

Okay, sue him, he’s being competitive.

He was in a nice haze, reading up on why using sandalwood to add an element of protection is a good idea when a heavy hand slaps down on his shoulder.

“Sammy, finally!”

Dean?

“Kid, you weren’t lying when you said he’s gone hyper-focused. Yo, E.T.’s hairy lovechild! You back home?”

Sam looked up and saw Dean’s wide grin. “What are you doing here? When did you even get here?”

“Freud sent out the bat signal,” he stuck a thumb out to indicate an innocent-faced Deanna. “Said you needed some me-time but your OCD was acting up again.”

Sam scowled, shrugging off Dean’s hand and leaning closer to his papers. “I don’t have OCD, jerk.”

“Bitch, please.”

“You definitely have the symptoms, in my professional opinion,” the brat quipped from her recline.

Sam ignored them.

“Sammy! Sam-wich! Yo, gigantor, you listening to me?”

Eventually, Dean would get bored and wander off.

“Big brother’s talkin’ here. Gotta listen to your elders, Sammy.”

Just need to wait him out.

“What kinda example you settin’ for your kid, huh? No wonder . . . ooh, are those angel bullets? These are fuckin’ awesome!”

Thank God. Sam heaved a sigh of relief and clicked on another article. By the time he was done with it, the talking had died out, meaning they’d switched to signing.

Sam bit his lip, staring at the list before him.

_Brass bowl_ , he wrote carefully.

He scratched it out and rewrote, _Circular brass bowl._

He scratched it out again, _Circular silver bowl._

“Okay, you’re obsessing over cutlery now,” Sam jumped at Dean’s voice near his ear. “It is bedtime.”

Sam huffed, locking himself up so Dean wouldn’t be able to budge him. Except Dean played dirty. Sam convulsed away from his brother, screaming at him to stop, trying to curl up so he could protect his side.

“Who wants a tickle-tickle,” Dean laughed in baby-talk. Asshole.

“Dean! Stop! This is important!”

“It can wait,” Dean won, heaving him off the floor and dragging him along to the kitchen. “I’m makin’ you some Nutella-y goodness and you’re gonna eat it all, ‘coz chocolate is good for the soul.”

“Yeah, Dad, it’ll soul-idify you,” Deanna was waving her phone in farewell, but she peeked over the edge of the couch to gauge their reactions. Which was abject disappointment, on both ends.

“Even I gotta say that’s bad,” Dean shook his head mournfully.

“I stand by it,” she pouted, dramatically flinging herself back on the couch.

“Okay, sit,” his brother instructed. He bustled around the kitchen, bitching about the _weird organization of the spice rack_ , which, what the fuck was he even talking about? Sam tuned out, trying to weigh the odds of irreparably fucking up Hannah’s grace if he vetoed the lamb’s blood, because killing a lamb in Heaven sounded like a surefire way of getting booted out.

He jolted at the snap of Dean’s fingers before his face.

“Look alive, bitch,” he grumbled, slapping down a plate of oozing French toast before him. Sam tentatively leaned ahead and sniffed at in. Okay, the vanilla smelt good, though. Dean’s cooking was a rare treat these days, and Sam, Eileen _or_ Deanna couldn’t cook to save their lives. Most dinner that wasn’t take-out was salad or sandwiches. Or scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs, they could do. Except that one time, but they don’t talk about that.

He took a tentative bite of the ooziest part and moaned at the sweet and crispy texture.

“Yeah, you like that?” Dean grinned smugly from where he was gorging on his own portion. Sam nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, swallow it all, baby.”

Scrunching his nose in distaste, he glared at Dean.

Dean chortled evilly before turning all attention to his French toast. Sam followed suit.

“’K, if you’re a good boy and do your dishes, I’ll give you a pen cap,” Dean whispered conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell Eileen.”

He genuinely wondered if Deanna could still be put up for adoption.

“How long have you been trying to use that one?” Sam gave in to the desire to bitchface.

“What makes you think I didn’t feed you as a part of my masterplan?”

Dean would.

“Oh, here, stash this somewhere warded, hm?” Sam fumbled to catch whatever his brother was tossing. He frowned at the warm, glowing vial of grace in his palms.

“Yeah, Cas and Balthazar did find something on their little stealth mission. I just didn’t wanna say anything in front of Cas. He’s weird about it.” Dean shrugged with careful nonchalance.

“Uh, did he say anything about it?”

“Nah, not like he’s all for talking to me anyway, though, is he?” Dean flashed him one of those smiles that were closer to a grimace and bounded up the stairs. Stunned by the sheer incongruence of that statement, Sam hurried to catch up.

“Wait, what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, Sammy. Forget I said it.”

Sam held off, watching Dean’s face carefully as he jimmied open the door to the master bedroom. They walked inside in silence, but Sam paused at the threshold.

“Okay, stop looking at me like that!” Dean exploded.

“Dean . . .”

“No! I don’t want to talk about it, Samantha! If I needed a shrink, I’d’ve gone to your kid.”

Sam didn’t say anything. He knew how to deal with a Dean who really _did_ want to talk.

“Okay, fine! I’m being an insecure wifey and I need my big strong husband to bring me a diamond necklace,” Dean snapped. “Happy?”

“Well, I’m mostly confused right now,” Sam hedged. “So . . . Cas isn’t talking to you?”

“He is . . . he’s just not _talking_ talking. Like real shit. Or us. Okay, it’s mostly petty arguments and sex talk at this point,” Dean flopped onto the other side of the bed, hugging a pillow over his face.

“About the Heaven stuff. And you two,” Sam confirmed.

Dean grunted. Sam took that as a yes. Dean wasn’t needy, was the thing. So if Cas wasn’t talking to him and Dean was _talking_ to Sam about it, it had to be something else.

Communication issues, his mind provided. Those two always had communication issues up the wazoo.

“He’s been busy, huh?”

“Yes, Sam. I miss my angel boyfriend and need attention because he’s too busy trying to protect every soul that ever came to Heaven for eternal peace.”

Dean lowered the pillow and resolutely pouted at the ceiling.

“Okay . . . not that. You tried talking to him about something and he said he was busy?”

“Getting warmer,” Dean refused to look at him.

“Okay. Uh, this is the weirdest twenty-questions ever. Uh, _did_ you try and talk to him?”

Dean nodded minutely.

“And did he say he was too busy?”

“Fuck, you’re too damn slow.” Dean sat up, crossing his legs. “No, he said he didn’t have time for my antics.”

Sam blinked.

“ _Cas_ said that?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam tamped down on the righteous anger he felt on his brother’s behalf. “And here I thought _Cas_ , of all people, wouldn’t need the shovel talk.”

“Shut up. Don’t make this a thing,” Dean hugged the pillow to his chest, looking oddly childlike.

“It’s kind of a thing,” Sam pointed out and Dean didn’t refute him. He was struck by an idea, “Is that why you wanted to hunt the daevas?”

“What?” Dean frowned at him like he’d just declared his favorite outfit was a tutu.

“I mean, you do redirect a lot,” Sam winced in anticipation of the defensive anger.

“I do not! Your giant supercomputer’s fried, bitch,” Dean made to get off the bed, so Sam grabbed his arm and cautioned, “Dean, don’t do this.”

“What, Sam?”

“We both know what you’re doing here. I know you’re just as tired of this as I am. Fighting, hunting . . . You’re scared of losing Cas, so you’re jumping into the fire for him as some sort of desperate ex-boyfriend move.”

“What makes you think it’s desperation and not love?”

“Is it?”

“… whatever. It don’t matter why. I’d do the same thing either way.”

“Of course it matters why! You get tunnel-vision when you’re desperate, Dean! Or do you not remember putting a gun to my head that day in the bunker?”

“Well, I _don’t know how to stop_ , okay? I can’t stop feeling like if I don’t do this, I’m just adding to the pile of crap Cas is dealing with. If I was an angel, hell if I was you, I’d actually be able to help him with his bullshit. But I can’t, ‘coz I’m me. My brain doesn’t work like yours or Cas’s. All I _can_ do? Is throw myself at the fire when it comes for him.”

Sam huffed out an annoyed breath.

He didn’t really want to do this anymore. Hunt, that is. Heck, had Dean not gotten taken out by stupid tetanus, he’d have gone back to his hunter network. Maybe they could’ve been the new Bobby.

But if Dean was jumping into this with horse blinders on . . .

“Okay, fine. Jump into the fire,” Sam amended. “Just, keep a clear head about it. If Cas isn’t listening, talk to me. Talk to Deanna. Or Mom, or Bobby, or Eileen. You have other people, okay? Just remember that when you’re fixating on your Cas bullshit.”

Dean frowned, but he didn’t say anything in return. Sam wasn’t sure if he was relenting or just ignoring him, but there was only so much you could make Dean say. And at least Sam knew he had to have his back for this fight. More so than usual, because Cas might not be doing his part.

“Take a nap, Sammy,” Dean muttered. He stomped out of the room. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Stash the grace.”

Sam nodded, forgetting that Dean couldn’t see him. Then he flopped into the pillow nest on his bed and conked the fuck out, refusing to obsess over the spell ingredients anymore.

Of course, when he woke up, Eileen had already solved the problem. He pouted a bit as he perused the new list. Eileen was looking at him significantly over her mug of tea. He dipped his head in acquiescence and responded genuinely. [Thank you. You’re amazing.]

Instead of the usual ‘I know’ he got a quirked eyebrow. He frowned at her so she indicated Deanna’s snoring form on the couch. Sam sighed.

[Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you stuff in the future because we work together better.]

With a satisfied smile, she walked over and pecked him on the nose.

[I know.]

*****

Dean picked at the label of his beer morosely. After their little blow-up, he didn’t have the guts to go home and face Cas. Not yet. So he sipped the beer and ran his finger along a line of condensation.

“Heads up, son,” Ellen muttered quietly. Dean turned in his seat and _great_. _Just what I needed right now_.

“This seat taken?” John groused. Dean shook his head, refusing to look up. He felt John take a seat beside him, heard him drum his fingers on the countertop. “Trouble in paradise?”

Before Dean could ask him to fuck off, there was the sharp sound of a glass bottle being smacked down onto the counter. He looked up in surprise to see a red-faced Jo Harvelle glaring at John Winchester, “You’re not welcome in here.”

“Well, you don’t own this place, little girlie. Why don’t you run off to mommy?” John sneered.

“Hey!” Dean snapped.

John’s eyes flashed, and Dean braced himself for a fight when he really didn’t need one. Then, to his astonishment, John seemed to back down. “Look, I don’t mean trouble, missy. Just here to chat with my kid.”

Dean took a breath, contemplating. His eyes snapped to Jo, and he dipped his head minutely. A look of irritation crossed her face but she walked off, murmuring that the beer was on the house.

_Of course it is. Not like money matters much anymore._

John and Dean sat in silence for a while, until John cleared his throat, “How’s your angel doing?”

“Cas is better,” Dean muttered. “He’s almost healed up.”

“Good,” John surprised him. “That’s good.”

Dean hummed noncommittally.

“How’s Mom?” he asked after a while.

“Angry,” John huffed. Dean didn’t respond, so John muttered, “Though, I get why, I s’pose.”

He blinked again _. Was this some sorta trap?_ But John didn’t give him a chance to say anything, not that he knew what to say, “I mean, you spend your life thinkin’ of someone in this little box. And then when they don’t fit, you get mad.”

Dean felt a rush of annoyance, “Don’t you fuckin’ compare this to you an’ me.”

“Look, I ain’t saying I was right, Dean,” John gave up all pretense and spun to face him. “I got angry without thinkin’. And then I started thinkin’.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I remember ‘Nam,” John had turned back to his beer. “Remember seeing soldiers seekin’ comfort. I never wanted a part o’that. But I saw them grab whatever happiness they could in that horror show, ya know?”

Dean breathed in slowly, scared that a loud breath would wake him up from the dream.

“Ever since I died, I had time to think,” John continued, oblivious. “Back when Heaven was all about relivin’ happy times . . . I realized how little I had with you boys after your mother died. And I was with you two for over two decades, son. The memories weren’t enough.”

Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“I get it. You shouldn’t give a shit about what I want anymore. I don’t deserve that . . . not after how I fucked you two up. Hell, Sammy had you, Dean. You raised your brother all on your own. But you? You suffered way more than I ever did.”

“Stop,” Dean choked out. “I . . . why are you sayin’ this stuff? _Now_?”

“Too little, too late, huh?”

Dean didn’t want it to be, but it was.

“You and your Cas . . . you got that thing I saw as the beauty in war. That little slice of heaven in hell. Two soldiers becomin’ somethin’ other than brothers-in-arms.”

John was getting up, a heavy palm coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder. Dean ducked his head, eyes filling with tears. He’d wanted this. And now that he had it? He wasn’t sure he could afford to take it with him. John let go and started to walk away.

_Hoe, don’t do it._

“Dad?” Dean rasped out.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for that day. With Cas,” he muttered.

“He’s your family, ain’t he?”

_I’m gonna do it._

He spun in his chair, watching his father walk away.

“Wait.”

_Should he do it?_

John paused, turning to look at him patiently.

He’d seen it in Sammy’s eyes when they’d taken the case. Sam was tired. He didn’t want to fight anymore. Dean was doing something practical here.

“How do you feel about helpin’ me with a hunt?”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoe did it.
> 
> Rough Enochian Translations:-
> 
> *G CASARM NOAN A BRANSG? - Who has the power to shield?  
> ** Cassiel DOBIX. - Cassiel fall.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean tiptoed into his house as though he’d been out cheating with his mistress. Part of him wondered if what he’d done wasn’t worse. _All clear_. Cas must’ve been off wandering in paradise.

He slowly shucked off his jacket and flannel, walking to the fridge to grab some water.

“Where were you?”

Dean jumped. Cas was peering at him over the back of the couch.

“Jesus fuck, Cas. What’re you doing in the dark?”

“Ruminating. Where were you?” Cas shot back. His eyes challenging, even in the relative dark.

“Harvelle’s,” Dean responded truthfully. “Jo and Ellen say hey.”

“I see,” Cas muttered, a weird edge to his voice. Dean scowled, clapping his hands together twice. The room lit up, and Sam jumped off the other couch.

“How many of you whack-a-moles around?” Dean hissed harshly.

“Dean? Where were you?” Sam was rubbing his eyes tiredly. Dean sighed in irritation, “I ain’t doing this dance again. Cas’ll fill you in, since you’re both obviously gossipin’ behind my back.”

“We’re just hanging out, man,” Sam muttered, shooting him a bitchface.

“Do you really wish to unearth everything we do behind each other’s backs?” Cas snapped, shoving off the couch and storming over to face Dean.

A flash of anger erupted, and he placed a palm on Cas’s chest, shoving him back. Except Cas wasn’t playing, and he didn’t budge. Dean stumbled back before he regained his footing, hissing, “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

_It could mean a lot of things._

“Hey! Whoa,” Sam was grabbing onto Cas’s shoulder. This time, Cas complied with measly human effort to move him. But his eyes bored into Dean’s. Dean refused to back down.

He knew he wasn’t wrong this time. He may deserve a teeny bit of the blame, but not whatever mountain Cas was shoving at him.

“Relax, Samuel. I’m merely hinting at Dean’s usual behavior at bars,” Cas sneered, eyes refusing to leave Dean’s. “I’m not _saying_ you found yourself a willing companion to fuck.”

He swallowed against the lump of rage that rose in his throat, refusing to dignify Cas’s paranoid-housewife routine with a response. He shoved past Cas and Sam, moving to the stairway. Sam then decided to weigh in, “Cas! What the hell, man?”

“Sam, keep out of this. It doesn’t concern you,” Cas was saying.

“Uh, that’s my goddamn brother you’re talking about. So, actually, I have all the right in the world to butt in.”

Alarmed, Dean backtracked hurriedly to stop Sam from word vomiting. 

“And if your actions are hurting my brother, I have all the right in the fucking world to Molotov your ass with holy fire.”

Shit. Dammit, that was the last time Dean was going to Sam with his stupid issues.

“What are you talking about?” Cas frowned, eyes skirting between the brothers.

“Sammy, don’t,” Dean warned lowly.

Sam looked at him, eyes glinting with resolve. Dean felt his heart drop to his stomach, and he upped the ante, “Cas is right. Ain’t your business.”

Sam’s eyes glinted, “I would’ve let it go if this was just you two pulling your miscommunication shtick. But this is different.”

Dean winced as his brother turned back to Cas.

“You can’t be a jerk and then accuse him of cheating on you in the next breath. Not when he’s throwing himself into the fire for you.”

Cas looked back at Dean, this time genuine worry leeching into the cold fury in his eyes. Sam was gonna spill the beans and Dean would be left to grovel for the angel’s forgiveness.

“Or do you not know what happens to souls that die in Heaven? Dean doesn’t _need_ to come outta retirement to save your ass from rogue hell-invaders, Castiel. He’s doing it because he loves you, and you’re acting like you don’t give a damn!”

Something snapped in Cas’s expression.

“ _You’re_ hunting the daevas,” Cas spat, moving closer to Dean. “You told me Jack put Gabriel on it.”

“What?” Sam’s head snapped to Dean as well. Dean closed his eyes, a hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. Except a hard grip locked around his wrist. He opened his eyes to see Cas’s fuming gaze boring into him.

“Yes, I lied,” Dean accepted. “But I couldn’t let you do it, Cas.”

“ _Why_ _not_?” Cas shouted.

“ _Because they’re after you, dammit_!” Dean screamed back. Cas seemed to momentarily pause from the surprise. But Dean was sure he wasn’t backing down. Not Cas. What had Chuck called him? _Self-hating Angel of Thursday_.

“So what?” Cas ground out, eyes flashing again. “On what grounds do you think you can make decisions on my behalf? You do not have ownership over me, Dean Winchester.”

“On the grounds that I can’t lose you again!” Dean felt his voice crack embarrassingly. “I can’t. I love you too much to survive that, Cas.”

He felt hot tears clouding his vision. Cas took a step back, releasing his hand. Dean circled it with his palm to hide the swelling he felt coming on.

“Then we have differing definitions of love,” Cas stated, voice like ice.

“Okay, just,” Sam was butting in again, stepping in front of Dean. For once, Dean was thankful. He raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing away the moisture in his eyes. His jaw ached from clenching it so tight. “Let’s do the spell, Cas. Dean’s back, so we can get this over with.”

Dean shoved everything into a box in his mind, straightening up. He had work to do. They could deal with this shit later. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a later, given their luck.

Cas must’ve agreed, because Sam was pushing him to the stairs. He turned to look at Dean as Cas ascended. Dean waved off his worried gaze, indicating the fridge.

He allowed himself a few seconds in the kitchen before making his way up.

*****

Samwich was muttering to himself like a lunatic.

Okay, fine, he was chanting a 'pre-incantation incantation'. Whatever the fuck that meant.

Cas was pacing across the room and Dean was covertly staring at his face. His eyes were tight at the corner and he had that vaguely constipated look going. Constipated, bordering on smitey.

Maybe he felt Dean’s gaze, because for the first time since they’d entered the room, Cas’s eyes met Dean’s. Dean looked away immediately, knowing he’d been caught. He glanced back when he heard the shuffle of Cas’s feet across the carpet again. Cas was white knuckling his angel blade, jaw tightening periodically when he glanced at Hannah’s listless form on the recliner they’d manifested for this.

At least she’d be comfortable.

It’d probably still hurt like a motherfucker, though.

“Okay,” Sam sighed, interrupting the heavy silence. “I need the grace, Cas.”

Cas nodded, approaching Hannah with heavy steps. He leaned close, whispering something low and foreign. Dean looked away, squashing down the bitterness that rose. He glanced back to see Cas moving Hannah’s head back gently, one firm palm braced against her forehead. He raised the blade.

The blade trembled.

Dean frowned, opening his mouth. Except Sam beat him, “Cas, you okay?”

For a beat, it seemed like Cas hadn’t heard him. Then he sighed shakily and said, “I can’t.”

“Uh, we need the grace, man. You want a break?”

“No,” there was a raw pain in his eyes when he turned to face the brothers. “I can’t do it, Sam. I can’t subject her to the agony of severing her grace from her soul. You can’t imagine,” he swallowed roughly, looking away. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll do it,” Dean blurted, stepping forward. The other two looked at him doubtfully. Dean swallowed, licking his lips to try and reduce the dryness. “I, I don’t know how. But you can teach me.”

Cas looked at him, face unreadable. Then he dipped his head in agreement. Dean stepped forward, extending a hand for the blade.

“Wait, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “Look, no offense, but Cas is an angel. What if you slice open the wrong vein and she dies, huh? Cas can’t exactly use his grace to fix her without alerting Jack.”

Dean swallowed roughly, bile rising in his throat as he reassured, “I know how to.”

Cas met his eyes, softness leeching in with understanding.

He _did_ know. He’d put that skill to use for ten years on the rack. He knew how to draw out the panic without causing actual fatal damage. Sam drew in a sharp breath as realization struck him as well. Cas put the blade in his hand. Dean swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and licked his lips. Then he brushed past Cas and approached Hannah’s defenseless form.

“I’ll hold her still,” Cas murmured from behind him. Close enough that a pang of longing jolted through Dean. “You can slice away from a vein. The grace isn’t mingled with the blood.”

Dean nodded, drawing in a fortifying breath. 

Holding his hand steady, he moved the tip of the blade to his artwork’s throat.

It wasn’t struggling, this one.

_Ain’t that a bore_.

He let the point of the blade press against the skin, eyes darting up to its face. It wasn’t even looking at him. _Already broken, huh?_ No problem, Dean could do this till that delightful whimper fell. The broken ones sounded so pained. Always pretty. He quickly flicked the blade across the skin and a curl of light rushed out.

_Huh. Well, at least there’s something interesting about this one_.

Dean waited to see what the light would do. If the soul felt it leaving . . . would it cry? Scream?

It let out a whimper, trembling silently.

_What a fucking bore._

Dean wanted a new toy. This one was broken. He moved to finish it off, except a hand clasped around his wrist.

Dean jolted, letting go of the angel blade. Cas was looking at him with worry. Dean shook him off, clearing his throat, “We good?”

“Yup,” Sam sounded like he was talking to a rabid dog. “We got it.”

“Good,” Dean said, voice too loud and too high. He spun around, moving to lean against the wall behind Sam. He felt Cas’s eyes on him for a long time after, but he didn’t have it in him to return the favor. He listened to Sam chant, butchering the words and stuttering over a couple of tough ones. He used the monotony as a lifeline, calming himself. The rush of blood in his ears quietened by the time Sammy was done.

Nothing else really happened.

“Is it done?” Dean said. He winced at the rawness of his voice.

“Yep,” Sam offered the bowl to Cas. Cas took it gingerly, moving back to Hannah’s still form. She didn’t react. Dean watched the grace curl through the air before seeping back into the cut. The cut he’d made while . . .

_Don’t think about that._

The cut disappeared with the last of the light.

“Shut your eyes,” Cas commanded. Right on cue, Dean heard the ring of grace and his eyelids turned red against the light show. When the light died, he blinked open his eyes.

Hannah looked the same, except her eyes were closed.

The men held their breaths, waiting. They weren’t disappointed. She gasped, shooting up in her seat. Cas was right there, muttering in Enochian to calm her down. Her wide gaze swept over the room, Dean, Sam, and then landed on Cas. She deflated like a flat tire on gravel.

“Castiel?”

He could hear the relief and happiness in Cas voice when he greeted her. Dean felt his stomach knot up again.

Hannah looked down at her body, patting at her clothes. Dean thought she was looking for something when she looked up at Cas again, eyes wide again, “My vessel. What . . . where’s Caroline?”

_Oh. Right._

Sammy _had_ mentioned that there could be memory loss. It was a long shot, but when he couldn’t find a purification spell, he’d bastardized an age-regression spell. At least it wasn’t too far back.

“Hannah, I will explain everything,” Cas promised. “But right now, I must take you elsewhere. I know of someone who can keep you safe.”

“Safe from _what_?”

“I’ll tell you there. We must leave, first,” Cas looked back at the brothers. Dean refused to meet his eyes again. Then there was a loud whoosh. Dean smelt the electricity and rain and then they were both gone.

Sam turned to Dean. Instead of initiating a chick-flick moment, he huffed, “Step one.”

Dean nodded, “Check.”

*****

“Jack,” Dr. Arai sighed. She leaned forward and met his gaze earnestly. Jack liked Dr. Arai. She worked long hours and still volunteered thrice a week at the homeless shelter. And she was always genuine. Well, mostly. Except when Jack would sense her annoyance with especially belligerent students. ‘Assholes’, as Dean would say. “I’m offering you a chance to make up for your last three assignments. I can’t help you make up for your chapter tests, or the first two assignments.”

Except Jack wasn’t quite sure why she was so insistent on him completing weekly assignments when they clearly weren’t as important as the exams.

“But you don’t need to,” Jack reassured her. “I’ll be ready for the exams. You don’t need to favor me.”

“Okay, I’m happy to hear that. I cannot, however, transfer the weight for your missed work to your exams. Departmental regulations, and all that.”

Jack frowned. _Weight?_

She saw something in his expression that gave her a sense of realization. And mild horror? “Jack, did you miss the _syllabus_ I sent out at the beginning of the term?”

Oh. The e-mail about the syllabus. He’d decided not to read that. To see how he’d deal with unpredictability. He knew a syllabus would tell him what was coming over the next four months, and he didn’t want that. That’s basically why he was here in the first place.

“Uh . . . I skimmed it,” he fibbed. He was feeling the edge of embarrassment.

She looked at him with suspicion before deadpanning, “You didn’t read it, did you?”

Jack swallowed. Dr. Arai was too sharp to deceive in matters involving social interactions. He nodded, dipping his head as he let the embarrassment wash over him.

“Oh no,” she muttered. There was an awkward silence as her mind raced. “Okay, I’m not mad . . . this is your business. But I know you’re a bright kid, and I want you to have a shot at this class.”

Jack looked up at her, wondering where she was going with this line of reasoning.

“You probably don’t have a lot of experience dealing with the schooling system, huh? With the home-schooling and al . . .”

Jack nodded, “My family didn’t really see me going to college. They did the best they could, but . . .”

He trailed off. He still wasn’t sure what she was asking for. So he stayed silent and let her continue, “Okay, so you’re the first one in your family to go to college?”

Clarity dawned. He understood what she wanted to know. She wanted to know if he had someone to help him with this stuff. Cas, of course, wasn’t an option till they reconciled. So . . .

“Sam,” Jack offered. “I know Sam went to the ‘fancy law school’. I don’t know where that is, but Dean said lawyers have a foot in Hell so I shouldn’t think about law school.”

She grinned, then bit her lip to recompose herself. “Well, my sister’s a lawyer. And she’s an angel.”

Hyperbole, obviously. But Jack appreciated the sentiment.

“So maybe Dean needs to fact-check before making claims. But Sam sounds like a good guy to listen too. Is he your dad?”

“Oh, no,” Jack chuckled. “Though a lot of people think that. He’s . . . my friend. Through family.”

“Well, I can give you a week to finish the pending assignments,” she offered. “And now you just need to focus on your deadlines for the rest of the term.”

Deadlines were _definitely_ going to be problem with him basically not being in a time-zone. Ever. Jack decided to mull on that later. He had more pressing issues to focus on. The invaders. Hannah. Cas. And the three assignments he had two days to do because Heaven time was different.

As that set in . . . Jack definitely felt some sort of panic. He excused himself, hoping he didn’t sound too rude, and flew to Sam. He had to get on his tasks immediately.

“Hi, Sam!” he greeted, vaguely registering that he’d landed in the bathroom. It smelled nice.

Sam wasn’t as calm as him. He screamed. His voice _had_ to hurt after going so high.

“Jack! What the fuck!” Sam was gathering the bubbles over his lap. Except that made no sense either, “Sam, don’t worry. You’re mostly modest.”

He seemed vaguely calmer. But then his eye started twitching as he stared at Jack.

So Jack tried again, “Uh, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you were taking a bubble bath. But I should tell you, Dean already knows. He calls it your ‘non-secret secret Samantha time’. I’m guessing it has to do with norms of masculinity, but it doesn’t make much sense to care about that in Heaven.”

Sam was doing that thing where he tried to calm himself down by breathing hard. He dropped something onto the ground and let one arm dangle over the edge of the tub. Jack moved to lower the lid and sit on the toiler. His eyes latched onto the book Sam had been reading and he smiled, happy that it wasn’t lore.

With a tired sigh, Sam muttered, “Okay, what’s up? I’m not getting out until this water gets cold, though. Fair warning.”

“It _is_ fair,” Jack agreed. “I need to learn how to do an assignment.”

Sam blinked at him, confused. He lifted his head off the wall and looked straight at Jack’s seated form, “Like, for school?”

He nodded, “I know you went to law school, so I thought you could help me?”

Sam smiled and nodded, “What class is it for?”

“Uh, Psychology. Introduction. Naomi said it helps understand humanity better.”

“Naomi, huh?” his expression shuttered, a sense of displeasure permeating his mood. “Well, I guess she’s right, to some extent.”

Jack waited.

“I don’t know how much I can help with that. Wanna ask Deanna? She used to be a psychologist, you know?”

“I do.”

“A damn good one.”

“Agreed. I just didn’t want to disturb her because she’s having sex with Claire.”

Sam froze, and his eye started twitching again. To make it stop, Jack added, “Dean and Cas told me not to ‘popin’ when they have sex. So, I assumed that applies to other humans as well.”

“That’s great! Uh, very considerate of you Jack. You know what? You should go ahead and set up my laptop. I’ll help you out in a sec.”

Pleased, Jack jumped off his seat and headed to the door, “I’ll see you in an hour? That’s how long the water should stay hot.”

Sam let out a groan, “Nah, I think I’m done relaxing for the year.”

Jack frowned as he shut the door behind him. He assumed that was hyperbole as well.

*****

Jack was cautiously watching Sam’s approaching breakdown.

It wasn’t _really_ bad, and sometimes letting out bottled emotions was good. Especially with the Winchesters.

“Okay, why the hell is this listed if it’s not in the lecture?” Sam fumed, tapping a piece of paper furiously before swiveling back to his laptop. Jack watched him for a few moments. Sam’s soul always came alive when he encountered an intellectual challenge. As much as it frustrated him, it gave him immense enjoyment too. Not just finding the final solution, but also the process of arriving there. Jack didn’t need his new powers to see that. It had always been apparent.

He was roused from his contemplation by the sound of a door banging open. He glanced up at the stairwell, waiting from Claire and Deanna to come into view. They did, Claire was glancing ahead nervously, and Deanna was watching her with a look of adoration. Jack greeted them with a wide smile, “Hello! How was your sex?”

Claire went red and started spluttering, as did Sam. Deanna gave him a genuine smile and reached over to ruffle his hair. He let her.

“It was good, pipsqueak,” she responded. “Thanks for asking. What’chu up to?”

Claire took a seat next to them at the dining table. Deanna walked past them and grabbed a huge bag of Cheetos, struggling to open it.

“Uh . . . I missed all my assignments and chapter tests because I didn’t read my syllabi. But my Psychology professor decided to give me another chance so I have three make-up assignments to submit in two days,” Jack explained. Deanna was listlessly munching on a fistful of orange puffs as he talked.

“Oof,” Claire muttered. She had pulled out a small knife from her boot and was spinning it on the table. Sam looked up at her in irritation, putting out a hand to stop the soft scraping sounds. She grinned at him apologetically. Then she looked back at Jack, “Jody kept asking me to, but I never went to college. But if there’s research to be done, I can help you out?”

Jack hesitated. He knew most students didn’t get any help from family in their coursework. What made him special?

“Calm thy really hot tits,” Deanna quipped, marching over to the table and setting the Cheetos down in the middle. She leaned against the back of Claire’s chair and looked at Jack, “If it’s Psych, you got me, bro.”

“Uh,” Jack looked between the three of them nervously. Sam peeked at him briefly over the back of his laptop, reaching over to sneak some fried chips. “I don’t know if that’s fair. I know people don’t usually get so much help with college work.”

“Well, I think you get a pass. Don’t know if you noticed, but you have a lot on your plate,” Deanna reassured him. She reached out and slapped her Dad’s hand away without sparing him a glance. But she did sass, “Eat healthier, Dad!”

Sam did a bitchface, and then pouted exaggeratedly. Claire huffed a small laugh and then tapped on the table with the back of the knife, “Yeah, Deanna’s right.”

Sam looked up at him and shrugged, as if to say _it’s your choice_.

Great, another decision to make.

Jack rubbed a hand over his forearm, and then decided, “No, I don’t need help doing the actual work. But maybe you can teach me how to write a hypothetical assignment?”

Deanna grinned, pecking Claire on the cheek and then taking the empty seat. “Let’s dance, Padawan.” She commandeered her father’s laptop and started typing away, “Let me introduce you to my abusive ex. The e-Library! She’s gonna drive you _nuts_.”

Sam halfheartedly warned her against getting Cheetos on his keyboard, and she shot Jack a delighted grin over the screen. Claire let out a fond sigh and they settled in.

*****

Sam was weirdly relaxed. He watched the kids work from where he was finishing the last of Deanna’s Cheetos.

And wasn’t that weird? Thinking of God as one of their kids?

Only Winchester life.

He was still worried sick about Dean, and Cas, and the next step, whatever it was. Not like Jo was forthcoming. He pushed that all to the back of his mind, determined to enjoy this moment. This nice little slice of domesticity.

“When’s Mom coming home?” Deanna pulled him out of his thoughts. He tossed the empty bag into the trash and looked down at the gross film of powdered cheese on his fingers. “Hm . . . not sure. She said Karen wants to try assembling a three-layer cake for Bobby. And given your Mom’s culinary skills . . .”

“Oof, couple a’years, got it.”

He chuckled. “You’re no better, little Freud.”

“Yeah, but I own it. Unlike you two.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes. Then Jack stiffened. So Sam did too, “What?”

But then he smiled excitedly and reached over to tap Claire on the arm, “Kaia’s here!”

Sam froze. He looked between Claire and Deanna, watching them pause as well. Then his daughter smiled, reaching over to grab Claire’s shoulder, “I’m going to let you two catch up.”

Claire grinned, got up and pecked her on the lips before moving to the doorway.

“Don’t have too much fun without me!” Deanna called. Then she turned back to her work, a small smile on her face.

Sam was . . . confused.

If his brain was a computer, it would’ve played Pac-man’s dirge. If Deanna was with Claire . . . and if Claire was with Kaia . . . what?

Was his daughter an adulterer?

Was this temporary?

But that smile on her face . . . Deanna _liked_ Claire. But Claire and Kaia were _together_ together. And Deanna wouldn’t get in between that. Was this her version of heartbreak now? Did Sam need to break out the ice cream? Should he talk to Claire?

“Dad, stop. I can smell your motherboard melting,” she called.

“Uh . . .”

“You could just ask, you know?” she looked at him knowingly.

He wasn’t being overprotective. _He wasn’t_. He just needed to make a quick call. Mumbling some clumsy excuse, he hurried to the bedroom.

*****

“Sam,” Charlie peered at him. “Are you being a worry-wart?”

He’d dialed the expert on casual relationships. She immediately Face-timed, setting him up on her kitchen counter as she bustled in and out of view. He’d occasionally hear the sound of the beater, and her delighted noises as she sampled whatever she was baking. Sam was definitely encroaching hungry, bordering on cranky.

“She’s my kid, Charlie,” Sam hissed. “I need to know she isn’t gonna get her heart broken.”

“Sam,” Charlie sighed. “Look, I’m no expert. But I know that heartbreak isn’t the only way every poly relationship goes.”

“But Claire and Kaia had this connection. They’re gone for each other, Charlie. What if . . . what if they decide they don’t want a third after all?”

“Look, Sam,” she sighed. The screen jostled as she moved. “I love ya’ like a bro. But you’re being invasive right now. Deanna’s an adult. And from what I’ve seen, really eff-ing smart. She knows what she’s doing. You’re just gonna have to trust her.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest. But Charlie cut him off with a stern look, “And if she _does_ get her heart broken, you’re gonna be there for her. Right? With chocolate, and blankets, and Frozen 1,2 and the new one I just pirated.”

Sam deflated.

“Right?”

“Yes, okay,” Sam mumbled, accepting defeat.

“Good, now be a good servant to your queen and come over,” she quipped. “I made shortcakes, and I need you to make sure I don’t eat ‘em all in one sitting.”

Okay, consider him distracted.

“You know,” she said before cutting the call. “I didn’t expect you to be the one who’d be freaked out.”

Sam paused.

“Don’t bitchface at me; I’m feeding you cookies!”

“I’m not bitchfacing,” Sam pouted, shrugging on his jacket.

“Look, I get it. It’s easier to roll with this stuff until it’s someone close to you,” Charlie smiled. “But at least you’re trying to learn about it and not badgering Deanna with your fears.”

He sighed, “So you don’t think I’m being overprotective?”

She laughed, “Of course you are. But you’re her Dad, man. And you’re a Winchester. It’s probably a good idea to be overprotective. I can’t believe you and Dean found trouble in paradise.”

This time Sam did bitchface, “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

“Just thought of it! Okay, kisses, see ya’, byeeee.”

Sam smiled despite himself at his frozen screen. Time to eat some damn cookies with the Queen.

The call came long after they’d eaten their way through the cookies.

*****

Sam groaned. He felt both nauseous and amazing. “That was sooo good, Charlie!”

Charlie moaned. Sam didn’t blame her; she matched him cookie-for-cookie, and she was _much_ tinier than him. Sam smiled despite how bloated he felt.

“I can’t believe I can’t binge without getting sick in _Heaven_ ,” she whined.

“Eh, Heaven ain’t paradise,” Sam murmured. The last few days was a clear indicator. He stared up at the plastic stars decorating Charlie’s ceiling. He liked Charlie’s place. He liked the cyan bookshelf lined with lore books and classics and bobble heads. He loved the tasteful rainbow curtains and the maroon couch. He _really_ loved the soft and fuzzy grey carpet he was lounging on. And it was bright like whoa. He turned his head to stare out the glass wall, eyes lazily roving over the plants framing the glass. He stared out at the slow rain until he heard Charlie sit up with a grunt. He rolled his head towards her.

She sat cross-legged on the carpet next to him, looking at him curiously. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Something’s bothering you,” she said at length. Sam huffed a laugh. That was a given.

“No, not general shit like polyamory and Heavenly invaders. Something else,” she clucked her tongue in light chastisement.

Sam sighed. “It’s Dean and Cas.”

“Damn it. What now?”

Sam laughed, then groaned at the uncomfortable movement of his stomach. “No, it’s not general dumbassery this time.” He met her gaze, “Dean actually talked to about it. Without a shit-ton of probing.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah . . .”

“You remember when we planned to tie them up in the bunker’s dungeon before I went to Oz?”

Sam hummed in agreement. That was a good time. Even though the world was fucked and he was unknowingly possessed by the angel who’d kill Kevin. Before Metatron got Gadreel and Dean got the Mark, and they started dealing with cosmic beings. It was so straightforward.

“Why the hell did we hesitate?” Charlie lamented. Sam had to agree. Maybe they should do it anyway, after they dealt with the new shitstorm.

They hung out in silence until Sam’s phone chimed. He lazily pulled it off the floor. The screen lit up with a string of messages from Dean.

_Poughkeepsie_

_Get evry1. FUBAR_

_Need spell_

_h oil cure_

Here we go again.

*****


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where the rough sex tag came from. I'm almost done with the fic, just a couple chapters left to pen down. I have no self-discipline, btw.  
> Anyhoo, I've been staving off writer's block by posting _more_ unfinished fics . . . well thought-out actions of an excellent choice-maker. Sorry if Jack's POV feels a little off. My little wave of narcissism is wearing off, so God's thought process is getting harder to imagine.  
> I'm not saying kudos might help, but . . . *shifty side-eye*
> 
> Either way, I hope the writing's better from last chapter.

***

**Three hours ago**

***

“You go left, I go right, we meet in the middle. We’re looking for Sulphur, EMF, jumpy angels, the works,” Dean instructed lowly. He looked back at John and did a double take at his expression. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just not used to the works as much as you are,” John muttered. Dean scowled. No way was he letting John run point of this one. The fucking _audacity_ ꟷ “I mean, angels are new shit as is. Huntin’ them? I don’t even know where to start.”

 _Oh._ Well fuck. Whatever, he still didn’t trust John. He’d have Dean’s back, but he was still Asshole Extraordinaire.

Dean grunted, unwilling to give him more, and set off on his side along the barrier. It was this wall of mist that surrounded Heaven, as far as he could tell. No end in sight, no matter how high you looked. Of course, if you went to touch it, it wasn’t no mist. It was like really old, hard Jell-O. That sent little sparks up your fingers. Probably didn’t taste much like Jell-O either. He wondered if he could trick one of the angels into licking the barrier. Better yet, Sammy.

Dean could barely make out the thin black strip beyond the barrier; the portal. It looked so ominous he wondered what the hell Jack was thinking. _Could’ve made it look like a rainbow road, but no . . ._

_Was that gay?_

Fuck it, rainbow road would’ve been some superior shit. Like Marvel, but cooler and real.

Dean kept his eyes peeled for any sign of life or any residual or debris from the invasion. So far, _nada_. He idly wondered how he’d work shot out with Cas.

Could make him those honey oatmeal cookies, in lieu of a peace treaty. He just had to make sure Sammy wouldn’t find out to gobble it all down before he presented it to Cas. As much as Sam had bitched about his eating habits on Earth, he didn’t seem all that concerned anymore. Which was fair, Dean supposed. Kid ate his Wheaties and died a leather couch. Dean died young and hot.

Not like the ‘tetanus’, as everyone had lovingly dubbed his impalement, was from clogged arteries of _that_ kind.

A strong whiff of rotten eggs shocked him away from his rambling mind. He glanced around and then saw the slightly discolored soil at the edge of the barrier. Casting a look around, he dropped down and started to dig, cringing at the feeling of dirt beneath his nails.

His hand struck cold metal and he pulled it out.

Creepy bowl. Cool. He pulled out the brown sack in the hole too.

Yup, witchy shit.

Dumping everything in the bowl, he shoved off his knees and kicked some of the soil back in. Years of unearthing graves led to habits that died hard. He was almost done when he heard the distinctive sound of a gun clicking. Cursing, he prayed that John was close. He spun to face his opponent, hip cocked so he could pull out his angel blade−

_The hell?_

“What are you doing?” Dean gaped at John.

John had a hard look on his face, and he warned, “Can’t let you take that anywhere, son.”

So that lifeline bit him in the ass. Next time someone told him to be the bigger person, he’d kick them in the balls repeatedly.

“Drop the gun, John,” Dean growled, holding the bowl closer.

“I’m the one at the advantage here,” John laughed.

Dean could take him, he wasn’t that far. He just needed an in.

He got an out, because Lady Luck had a bone to pick with him; John narrowed his eyes and then took several steps back, gun unwavering.

“What are you doing?” Dean repeated, still not sure of what the fuck was happening there.

“There’d be residue on that thing. Can’t let you take it.”

Dean paused, cold horror seeping in. John was protecting someone? Had to be someone powerful enough to make the man quake in his boots. Because why the fuck would John Winchester give an explanation for his actions?

Sam was gonna make ‘ _I told you so’_ his ringtone.

“If you put it down and go home, I won’t have to hurt you,” John offered, and he the fucking gall to smile paternally. Dean felt mildly sick as he spat, “You’re working for some renegade angel?”

“ _With_ ,” John corrected. “They told me all about how that angel messed you up. The Leviathan. Purgatory. Lettin’ Lucifer ride around the world?”

_Can we get an F in the chat, with a side of **motherfucker**?_

“You can’t make half-assed, shitty choices just on some random halo’s say-so!” Dean shouted. Internally, he prayed, **_Gabriel, Balthazar, if either of you can hear me. I’m two seconds from being pumped full of angel blade._**

“It’s true, isn’t it?” John shouted back.

“Whoever it is isn’t showing you the whole picture!”

“Oh, I can guess. You got a soft spot for monsters, is that it? I told you to kill Sammy, and you failed. I’m guessing you were the same weak bitch with Castiel. Bent over like a fucking whore and let him destroy the world on the side?”

“Cas _saved_ the world,” Dean hissed. “He fuckin’ saved the world _with his dying breath_. He saved me, he saved your new God. Hell, he saved Sam and Mom more time than I ever did!”

“Ain’t my problem that you’re a weak little fag,” John spat. “But he’s a goddamn monster, and I’m a hunter. So, we’re gonna do your job for you and clean up your mess!”

“Who’s ‘ _we_ ’?” Dean shouted back, blood bubbling under his skin.

“Well, this was a lovely sociopathic tantrum, but I’m afraid I can’t let you hurt Cas _or_ his favorite cuddle bunny,” Gabe sassed from where he’d manifested behind John. Dean eyes widened and he screamed, “Gabe, watch out!”

But John was already spinning to shoot. Dean dropped the bowl and started to hurl himself at John’s exposed back, except something grabbed him and flung him into the barrier. Hard. His body tingled with little zaps and he gasped, sluggishly pulling away. When he looked up, he realized Balthazar had thrown him. He had an arm wrapped around John’s throat and a palm braced on his head.

“No!” Dean screamed, panicked. “Balthazar, don’t!”

“Are you serious!” the angel shouted. “He’s fuckin’ off his rocker!”

“Just . . . just hold on,” Dean rasped. He should let Balthazar get rid of the homophobic fuckface. But the thought of causing John’s death was making bile rise in his throat. Maybe he _was_ too weak. Either way, he hesitated too long.

Balthazar swore with feeling and knocked John out.

There was a snap and John was hog tied from head to toe, prone on the ground. Gabe groaned, “Ugh, I _hate_ humans for inventing angel bullets.”

Dean struggled to his feet, casting a glance over the angels. Gabe was shot in the shoulder, but it didn’t look too bad. Balthazar was fuming.

“Did you start investigating the daevas without backup, you imbecile?” the angrier angel snapped.

Feeling embarrassment wash over him, Dean muttered, “He _was_ my backup.”

The angels stared at him in shock. Dean shrugged, “I thought second chances was the theme at this party.”

“Evidently not,” Balthazar ground out. He reached out and grabbed Dean with one arm, Gabriel with the other and ahoy! Angel Express.

Dean bent his knees as he landed, and then blinked at the tiled floor.

“Sam’s,” Balthazar explained, releasing him and then stringing Gabe along to the alcohol cabinet.

“Don’t need to pull Sammy and Eileen into this mess. We gotta get to my place,” Dean said urgently, scanning around for any signs of Eileen or Deanna. Finding nothing, he pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Sammy, wherever he was.

_Poughkeepsie_

Then he stared at his phone for a moment. He glanced up at Gabe, saw the sweat gleaming off him despite his easy grin as he fended of his brother’s attention.

He shot off a few more texts.

_Get evry1. FUBAR_

_Need spell_

_h oil cure_

Dean let out a breath. As horrible as it was, a small part of him was immensely grateful that Balthazar hadn’t zapped them to Cas and spilled the beans. At least without giving him time to work out a good excuse.

“Well! What do we have here? A little injured birdie, is it?” Dean gasped at the familiar voice and spun to face the interloper. “Squirrel, did I mix the Winchester houses? Or are you sneaking off on Cas for some angelic bromance? A heavenly threesome, perhaps.”

“Crowley?” Dean choked out. “You’re, fucking, you’re−”

“Yes, yes, I’m alive. Revelations, and all that,” Crowley walked past Dean to the angels, arms behind his back as he looked at a confused Gabriel and annoyed Balthazar.

“Uh, you’re the dead King of Hell?” Gabe asked.

“No dear, follow along, will you? Alive, as in _not_ dead,” Crowley snarked. He looked literally the same. Before Dean’s brain could compute this new development, he realized the former King of Hell was decked in a loud, pink Hawaiian shirt and jean shorts. Dean’s braincells abandoned ship and he settled for spluttering.

“How are you in Heaven?” Balthazar snarled, reaching over to snatch the glass of whiskey the demon was toting. He upended it over his brother’s shoulder, who let out a yelp.

“Ey! That was top-shelf Scotch, you Neanderthal!”

“I assure you I’m quite a connoisseur; I’m well aware.”

“Crowley!” Dean snapped finally. “Look, not that I’m not fully conflicted to see you, but answer the damn question.”

“Aw, did you miss me?” Crowley ignored him. Dick. “Is it because Castiel refuses to venture beyond vanilla, catholic schoolgirl sex?”

Dean gaped. “No! I mean,” he backtracked at Gabriel’s interested expression. “Shut up, asshat.”

“Fill me in later, darling. I’d love to find out just how kinky our favorite tree-topper is. As for the why and how; I’m not quite so demonic anymore. And I’m sure you’ve been following along the news; there’s been conjugal visits from hell-dwellers to Heaven.”

He manifested another glass of whiskey.

“As for the _why_ ; you’ll just have to wait and find out with the rest of our readers,” Crowley bowed.

“Okay, we need to get back to your place,” Gabe ground out. He still didn’t look too bad. “We need Cas and Sam.”

“Lovely! I was just on my way to say hello!” Crowley quipped. He snapped his fingers before Dean could protest.

Dark wood floor. Time to face the music.

*****

“Dean?!” Sam gasped. “What the . . . Crowley?”

“Gabriel, what’s wrong?” Cas hurried towards them.

“He got shot,” Dean muttered. “And . . . uh, guess what the hellhound dragged in.”

Cas had a hand braced on Gabe’s shoulder, brow furrowed in concentration. Sam was looking between the newcomers, wide-eyed. Dean swallowed, eyes sweeping around the room. Eileen and Deanna sat at the table, crouched over books of lore. Sam had been sitting behind his kid, but now he was approaching the angels. Claire was draped across the crouch, next to . . . Charlie? Okay, whatever, more and merrier. Mildly overwhelmed by the number of people he’d endangered with his fucking actions, he focused on something else. There was a new drawing board against the partially filled bookshelf, next to the old board Jo had used.

“Well, I expected a warmer welcome,” Crowley brushed past them and into the house.

Right. That too.

Dean felt a flare of irritation. This was _his_ home. His and Cas’s. And Crowley’s expression was giving him hives. Crowley peered curiously at Deanna, until she gave him the bird. Dean swallowed. His anxiety on that front was curbed by Sam’s shrieking.

“Is that an angel bullet? Is that why you texted me?” Sam demanded, hefting the Heavenly first aid kit – equipped with holy oil and warded dressing.

“Yes. And I assume so,” Balthazar bit out from where he and Cas were supporting a dazed Gabriel. Cas pulled his hand away, looking like he was sucking on a lemon.

“What the hell?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up his fivehead. “Since when do angel bullets hurt Archangels?” He glanced at Dean, “Didn’t they have, like, no effect on Lucifer in Apocalypseworld?”

Dean racked his brains, but Crowley beat him to it, “Ah, Moose. No one remembers episodes that far back.”

 _What_.

“Love what you’ve done with the place, by the way, darling. Though I do wy Castiel’s sex swing isn’t front and center,” he smirked.

“Hey!” Dean snapped. Cas ignored the demon, but Dean saw his jaw clench.

“Oh, come on Squirrel,” Crowley spun to face him. He grinned, “I’m sure _Cas_ is quite the freak in the sheets. You recall I know your not-so-vanilla tastes myself?”

“What?” Cas snapped, eyes glaring at the grinning demon. Dean’s mouth fell open. Screw the brief moment of softness, he was gonna stab that limey dick in the fucking throat. He turned to Cas, who’d abandoned Gabe and was moving to Crowley. Sam was moving to take his place, so Dean reached out to grab Cas, “Wait, Cas.”

Cas turned the glare onto him and Dean’s throat dried up.

“Yes, Castiel,” Crowley droned. “I’m sure you’d love to learn more of your fuck-toy’s extracurriculars but we do have a word limit here. . .”

“Shut up,” Cas barked. “You are not welcome here. I don’t know how you made it to Heaven . . . but I see you’re undeserving still. Leave. Before I make you.”

There was a click, and everyone turned their eyes to Claire, who was holding a gun pointed at Crowley’s head. Dean was sure she’d hit her mark. Crowley smiled, “Awh, I see you got yourself another grunt, Castiel. Quite a fruitful midlife crisis after all, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t test her patience,” Cas said simply.

Crowley turned back and looked at him. Then shrugged, “I see you’re not in the mood for my company. I’ll leave,” he raised his arms in surrender. “I just thought you two would like to know what your other little grunt’s been up to . . . sneaking around the barrier with Daddy dearest, for starters.”

_Fuck._

“Call me,” the demon winked salaciously at Dean and snapped his fingers. And he was gone.

Dean felt cold sweat break out.

“Dean . . . what the hell was he talking about? Where were you? You went hunting alone?!” Sam’s voice was getting more and more hysterical with each question. Dean raised a hand to ask for a pause except Cas grabbed his arm and spun him roughly so they faced each other.

“Hunting what?”

_Double fuck._

Dean swallowed. He wet his lips and croaked, staring at Cas’s cold eyes, “Cas . . . I . . .”

“Hunting. What.” Cas shook him, voice still low.

“Dean and I were hunting the daevas,” Sam offered, looking slightly less angry than Cas. “At least, that’s what I thought. Apparently, you prefer _John_ to watch your back more than you trust me.”

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas and looked at Sam, begging him to understand, “Sammyꟷ”

“I’m sorry,” Balthazar snapped. _Great, jump on board_. “Are you telling me my brother shot because you’re too _dumb_?!”

“John Winchester shot you?” Cas was looking at Gabe, who was the only one who didn’t seem pissed at Dean. He also looked like shit, though. He was sweaty and heavy-lidded, leaning against the couch where he’d been propped up. His eyes fluttered at Cas’s question and he nodded.

“Angel bullet,” Balthazar’s eyes were still boring into Dean’s. “We need to get it out.”

Cas abruptly stepped away from Dean and as much as Dean appreciated the blood circulation in his arm, he wanted to grab onto Cas. But Cas swept away before he could so much as blink. Sam was glaring at Dean, nostrils flared, “Dean, explain. Now.”

Dean swallowed again. He started at the beginning. No one interrupted him, save for Gabriel’s occasional pained huffs.

When he was done, Sam was staring at him in disbelief and Gabe was out cold. Cas refused to look at him.

*****

“I’ve had beer,” Jack offered, feeling extremely out of depth in the poorly lit bar. The pulse of music was loud, and that couldn’t be good for the humans at all.

“Well, you _need_ tequila,” Ira insisted, grabbing Jack’s arm and marching to the bar that was littered with pathogens. “This is why people come to school, come on!”

Jack liked Ira. They was buoyant and kind, always willing to help other feel at ease. The bracelets on their wrist clattered with their frenzied movements. Ira knew a lot about the world, and they were more than willing to share said knowledge.

Jack had found that out a week ago. On Earth time. What was Chuck thinking when he invented time zones, honestly?

_They had the same sociology class, and Ira had loudly protested against the binary examples their professor was using. There were so many people in that class, and everyone had reacted uniquely. But I general, there were people who felt grudgingly approving, those who felt embarrassed, those who were repentant about not doing exactly what he was, and those who were outright disgusted. Jack was tempted to intervene in the last faction’s lives, but he couldn’t. As dearly as he wanted to._

_After class, Jack had approached Ira to express gratitude, or approval. Jack wasn’t quite sure, but he wanted to make contact._

_“No problem, friend,” he’d smiled. “Feel like a smoothie?”_

_It was simple as that. Jack had a friend._

_They’d chatted idly on the walk to the smoothie shop, Ira had spoken about his family, how much he hated the class but needed it because he couldn’t afford to retake it. Jack had talked about Sam and Dean and Cas. He’d talked about Claire and Deanna helping him. He’d even talked about the fledglings, though he’d introduced them as babies._

_“Aw, I love babies. But who doesn’t, am I right?”_

_Jack had nodded, though he knew Cas wasn’t a fan of human babies. Interacting with them, at least._

_At a loss for what else to say as they waited in line, Jack asked, “Uh . . . what kind of smoothie are you getting?”_

_“Hm . . . I’m a mango person, but I do feel like cheating and getting the chocolate volcano. I’d say I deserve it after that train-wreck.”_

_Jack frowned, “You were in a train wreck?” Ira looked at him a minute and then laughed, “Whoa, you’re out of it. Classes are hell, huh? I meant the lecture.”_

_“Oh, right. Obviously. You’re right. I am out of it.”_

_“Midterm season, ugh,” he shuddered exaggeratedly. Jack tuned to the menu, pursing his lips at the choices._

_They reached the front of the line and Jack was still swapped by choices. He couldn’t decide. Suddenly, Ira piped, “I’ll take the Mango Magoo, and my friend here’ll have the Chocolate Volcano.”_

_That was nice of him. Jack smiled at the girl taking their order. “Right. He’ll take the mango and I’ll take the chocolate.”_

_Ira laughed, but Jack wasn’t sure why._

_He found out why later, while they were comparing notes and sipping on the smoothies._

_“Hey, I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you,” Ira offered. “You looked panic-attacky, not that I’m joking about that shit.”_

_“Oh!” Jack abandoned his pen. “No, thank you. I wasn’t about to have a panic attack, but choices . . . they’re difficult.”_

_“I get that,” Ira smiled at him kindly. They went back to their respective laptops, until Ira cleared his throat, eyes on the screen. He was embarrassed. “And, uh, I go by ‘they’. It’s okay, you didn’t know.”_

_Jack frowned. “Go where?”_

_Ira looked at him with a look of caution. Then he must’ve seen something in Jack’s gaze that put him at ease. He laughed loudly, “My pronouns, Jack. I prefer ‘they’, not ‘he’. It’s a choice, lol.”_

_That was another funny thing, he’d say text shorthand as real words. Jack frowned, and then he clarified, “Oh, so if I ever refer to you, I should use ‘they’?”_

_“Exactly. Man, homeschooled in a straight house, eh?” he smirked, though Jack detected some discontent._

_“No . . . uh, I mean, Dean and my Dad are together. And Cas, uh, my Dad isn’t really a man . . . but we say ‘he’ for him.” Jack froze. He probably shouldn’t have said that. What if that’s too alien?_

_“Ah, cool. The ol’ repressed elders thing. Well, I know I look like a dude, but I don’t necessarily feel like one. So, I choose to not be addressed as one. When people comply, that is,” he adds with a sad twist in his smile._

_Jack tamped down on the anger and unpleasantry that arose at the thought of **those** people. He couldn’t cause another earthquake. Then he was struck by a thought. “What if . . . what if you were like Cas. Like, you aren’t really a male or female or other. But you look like a male?”_

_Ira hummed, “Well, I’d say that’s somewhere on the non-binary spectrum. But it doesn’t have to be. What pronouns you choose are your business and no one else’s. Does your Dad not want to be a ‘he’?”_

_“No, I think he prefers it. He was a genderless bei_ _ꟷ uh, person. But ever since rescu_ _ꟷ uh, ever since I can remember, he’s preferred ‘he’.”_

_“Right. So you aren’t asking for him?”_

_Jack paused._

_Ira hurried to add, “It’s your business, friend. You don’t have to talk to me about it. It’s weird, ya know? I feel like I know you already.”_

_“I get that a lot,” Jack smiled. After all, God was in everything. God’s power blew life into everything ever created. “And you aren’t overstepping. It just has me thinking . . .”_

_Ira nodded silently, waiting. He turned back to his laptop to give Jack space._

_He wasn’t sure. Jack knew he wasn’t male or female or other . . . he couldn’t necessarily conform to human pronouns if he wasn’t human. But it did bother him more since he’d become God. Human were amazing, but . . ._

_The idea of being referred to as ‘he’, like Chuck, was . . . he knew people used it to justify hurting others. Hurting people by claiming that ‘God’s gender’ implied those he represented were better than others._

_People may never know about him while on Earth. But the supernatural beings would . . . that would make a difference, he hoped._

_They hoped._

_“I think I’d like to use ‘they’ too,” Jack said. Ira smiled up at him in plain acceptance. Once again, Jack was humbled by the compassion of humanity. “It doesn’t quite feel right . . . but it feels better than ‘he’.”_

_Ira smiled. “Hi, my name is Ira. My preferred pronouns are ‘they/them’.”_

_He stuck a hand out. Jack grinned, reaching out to shake his hand, “Hello. I’m Jack, Ira. My pronouns are also ‘they/them’.”_

_Ira knocked his smoothie against his gently. Jack looked down in puzzlement, then at his friend. “To choices.”_

_Jack understood. A toast._

_“To choices.”_

“And hey, no pressure,” Jack was pulled out of reminiscing when Ira added, “but that gorgeous lady over there’s been eyeing you since we walked in.”

Jack blinked and looked over at the table they pointed at. It was . . . their eyes widened. _Harper_?

They excused themself as they made their way over to the necromancer. She grinned at them, “Hi, Jack. I was waiting for you to notice me.”

“Harper, what are you doing here?” Jack demanded.

“Did you get my letter?” she asked, smiling innocently. Jack was tempted to use their powers but . . . she didn’t sound like she wanted to kill them. Not that she could, anymore.

“Uh . . . no,” Jack had given her a fake name. A generic one, as Dean had decided, when they’d wanted to say ‘Jack Baggins’.

“Oh,” Harper pouted. She sipped at a daiquiri. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, I’ve moved on from you. I know we had something . . . but long-distance relationships are hard.”

Jack blinked, thoroughly confused. “We were in a relationship?”

“No, well, not really. But we were in love,” she clarified, though it didn’t help at all. “Anyway, I wanted your help. My boyfriend, Ashton, he went missing last month. And I tried a bunch of tracking spells, but I couldn’t do much.”

Jack took a fortifying breath, and then they asked, careful not to insult her, “Ashton is . . . still alive?”

It didn’t work, her eyes flashed with annoyance, “Oh, come on. I’ve grown. I don’t do that anymore. After my last two boyfriends got taken away by hunters . . . I figured, maybe I’ll just keep an alive one. And we could grow old together, and then he’d die. And _then_ I’ll bring him back. And a few decades later, I met Ashton! So I cast an age regression spell on myself and we started dating. Well, until last month.”

Jack took in the new information. Except for the part about cheating death, heꟷ _they_ couldn’t really see anything crazy in Harper’s plans. And well, they couldn’t really say anything about that. That’d make them a hypocrite.

“So . . . why do you need my help? I mean, I’m not the best hunter on Earth.”

“Well, you’re the only one who didn’t try and shoot me within ten minutes, so . . .”

“Oh,” Jack thought over it. They could help, even at a human capacity. And if Harper had really changed . . . she deserved a shot at redemption. She’d been misguided, and all she wanted was someone to love and be loved by. She went about it the wrong way . . . but her goals were incredibly human. They decided, “Okay, I can help you. Can we talk about it later?”

“How about over coffee, tomorrow? It’s a date!” she chirped. Jack frowned at her in disapproval, but she rolled her eyes at them, “I’m joking, geez.”

She disappeared in the crowd and Jack sighed. They hoped this wouldn’t bite their butt later.

*****

Everyone was in timeout. Well, mostly Dean, but they all decided to cool off. Jo was in the fucking wind, according to an even more irate Balthazar, and so there wasn’t much to do beyond screaming at Dean for his dumbassery. After about fifteen minutes, Charlie had steered red-faced Deanna away from him and declared that it was break-time. After Gabe was relocated to the guestroom, Balthazar had pulled up some French porn and Deanna, Charlie and Claire had decided to stick around. _Ain’t that a disturbing visual._ Everyone was . . . around, Dean guessed.

The only person he didn’t know the whereabouts of was Castiel. Cas had stalked into the room to grab his laptop and then stormed right out.

Dean lay on the bed, eyes straining to stay open in the moonlit room. Because he’d shut his eyes and his mind would refuse to switch to power saver mode.

_Fuck it._

He sat up in bed. Years of dealing with insomnia had taught him just the right tricks. He glanced at the door and blinked the lock into place. Then he slipped a hand under the blankets.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of soft pressure over his crotch . . . it definitely perked shit up down there. But that’s as far as it went. His eyes snapped opened in frustration.

He glanced at the door.

_What would Cas do if I just went and paraded around naked in front of him?_

Give him a disappointed look? Could one get smote after dying?

_What if you pissed him off though?_

And nope, hit the brakes. It’d be a dick move ( _heh_ ) to use Cas to get off just ‘coz sex is _definitely_ not on the table for a while. Or the bed. Or against the wall.

_Yeah, he’d slam you right into the wall if you made him mad enough._

No, fuck. Shut up, downstairs brain.

_Bet he’d be so mad . . . breathing hard, holding you against the wall, pressing you down . . ._

Hhhnnngh . . .

“It’s not like he’ll know,” Dean rationalized out loud.

_No, he won’t._

Dean bit his lip in contemplation. He glanced at the door. If he was quick enough . . .

He shut his eyes and went from there.

_Cas, holding you against the wall. You can’t budge an inch. And then those lips on you, hard but so fucking delicious. He tastes like honey and vanilla. And you reach up to grab his hair and he lifts you off your feet and you press your dick into him. He’s right there with you, hard and hot and he pulls away, so you put your mouth on that neck. The rough stubble on your lips, the taste of sweat, the feeling of his pulse under your mouth and he’s whimpering deliciously._

Dean screwed his eyes shut and bit off a moan. _God, yeah. Cas, so fucking hot._

_And the way he looks when he’s close. Body tensing up . . . mouth falling open._

_He’s making those little choked growls . . . that back’s tensing up against your hands. Your feet digging hard against him. You can’t do much anyway. He’s speeding up and rutting harder against you. You feel his cock slide along yours and you’re slamming against the wall each time he shoves. And then he says your name, and his voice is_ _ꟷ_

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes shot open. It was _not_ fantasy-Cas.

His eyes met Cas’s. Cas, who was in the room. Still pretty pissed. The lock looked broken, which meant Cas wasn’t paying attention. _God, that’s so fucking hot._

_Priorities, brain._

The shock that made the arousal recede as it started losing against the sheer hotness of Cas’s strength.

“Uh,” Dean choked out. He pulled his hand away and sat up, bunching the covers against his crotch. “Sorry, Iꟷ”

“Don’t stop.”

Cas’s eyes were dark and his voice dangerous. Dean couldn’t tell if he was pissed or something else.

“I told you, keep going,”

 _Oh God, it’s happening_.

Dean tentatively reached down to grab his still inappropriately hard cock.

The door shut behind Cas with a click and then he was approaching the bed. And stripping. Dean gulped, eyes on the loosening knot of the blue tie. He could see the perfect tan skin at Castiel’s collar.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Dean,” Cas warned, voice still low and sharp.

“Okay,” Dean rasped. So he’d totally spaced out, but you couldn’t blame him. Cas was hot, okay? Unfairly so. Even when he was pissed. _Especially_ when he was pissed.

He resumed his lazy stroking, distracted by Cas. The angel stood at the foot of the bed, directly across Dean. His hands undid the last of his shirt buttons and he took it off. Dean’s mouth watered. And then Cas reached down and tugged open his fly. He stepped out of the pants and paused, unmoving except for his eyes that flew over Dean.

“Stay silent. And take off your shirt.”

Dean jumped to follow. His hands shook and he fumbled. When he got his shirt off his head, Cas was on the bed. Those arms rippled with muscle and then Dean was sliding down the bed, gasping in surprise. Cas’s firm grip spread his legs, grabbing his hips _hard_.

He gasped at the nudge against his ass.

“Cas?” he whispered. Just to make sure that Cas was doing okay. And not about to hate-fuck Dean out of existence or something.

“Shut up.”

His shorts were tugged off roughly and his legs were pushed up against him. A warm finger stroked against his hole and then _pushed_. Dean threw his head back into the pillow, moaning like a virgin. And then in alarm, whispered, “Wait, lubeꟷ”

And then Cas was in his sight again, eyes hard, skin flushed. The angel moves quickly and there’s a hot palm circling his throat. Cas leveled a stern look at him and gritted out, “Quiet, Dean. Do not make me repeat myself.”

And Dean can follow an order. It’s just that, well, it was _his_ ass. So, “Cas, pleaꟷ hhhhuh.”

The hand gripped his throat hard, cutting off all his air. Dean bucked in place, eyes rolling up in pleasure. And then Cas slid into him, no resistance.

 _Grace sex. Awesome_.

Oh, he was _so_ on board for hate sex.

Dean’s mouth fell open at the fullness. The hand around his throat loosened and Dean couldn’t stop his desperate gasps of air.

And then Cas started moving.

Slow but hard and rhythmic. He hit Dean’s prostate on the second slam and Dean choked, biting his lip to stay silent. Except Cas was manhandling him, arranging him as he pleased and Dean whimpered. The underside of one leg was draped over Cas’s shoulder and the other was flush against the undulating waist.

Dean bit his lip harder, and he could feel blood beading against his teeth.

 _You ain’t gonna last long_.

No shit.

“Come,” Cas commanded simply and Dean’s cock complied. Immediately.

His mouth fell open in a loud gasp and his eyes slammed shut. Stars exploded across his eyelids, and Cas was hitting that spot over and over and over again. He was sure he was letting out embarrassing noises, but fuck if he gave a damn.

He started rambling, “Cas, yes, Cas. Please, Iꟷ Yes, yesꟷ”

Cas wrapped his hand around his throat and griped. Dean’s spent cock made a valiant effort to jump back into the fray.

Everything felt warm and sensitive and just when he thought he’d pass out, it receded.

He melted. His legs went lax and everything still tingled because then Cas started tightening his fist around Dean’s neck and moving faster.

Dean was so fucking oversensitive that he couldn’t hold the tears that made their way out. His mouth fell open at the lack of air and his body started twisting and convulsing. Cas was making him come _without_ an erection and that was mind-fucking-blowing.

The angel’s movements grew erratic and wild. Dean felt himself twitch in tandem every time Cas let out a noise. His legs tightened around Cas, arms reaching up to dig nails into the firm chest above him.

Then, the lack of air became top priority.

**_Fuck, Cas, stop!_ **

The world was fading away and his fingers felt too cold. At the same time, Cas was nailing his prostate on every shove and Dean was seriously dying.

And then the pressure let up and he was gasping. His throat protested painfully against the rapid expansion, but the spots in his vision cleared up. He felt the bed bounce as Cas threw himself down beside Dean.

Dean kept his eyes close, trembling a bit.

His mind was full of white noise.

He came aware to soft pressure against his crotch and looked down tiredly. Cas was cleaning him up. He hadn’t even realized Cas had gone away to get a towel.

He tried to say something even as his throat protested, but Cas pulled away abruptly. He turned his back to Dean in clear refusal.

Dean swallowed painfully, willing away the tears that rose at the rejection.

 _Don’t be a fucking girl about this_.

With way more effort than it required, he turned to curl himself up on his side. He refused any coherent thought and tried to tamp on the weird panic-despair flooding him.

Despite his worst efforts, he felt his body start shaking in earnest. He reached down to grab at the covers to hide his embarrassing response, except his throat flared up in pain and a whimper escaped.

Dean froze, digging his face into his pillow.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, please be asleep._

No dice. He felt the bed dip with movement.

_I’m fucking pathetic._

“Dean?” Cas’s voice was gentler now. Dean tried to respond and say he was just cold, but his throat cramped.

He felt a hand on the covers against his shoulder and then Cas let out a shocked noise.

Instantly, the cool, near drug-like haze of grace filled him and the pain in his throat disappeared. Dean sighed in relief and his body started to relax again. Then Cas whispered, “I hurt you.”

“No,” Dean flipped around to meet Cas’s horrified gaze. “No, Casꟷ”

“Yes, I did,” Cas insisted.

“I had it comin’,” he shrugged. “The orgasm more than made up for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas reached up and cupped the side of his face and Dean tamped down on a moan. “But I’m still mad at you.”

“Figures,” Dean joked weakly. “I’m sorry, too, for what it’s worth. About John, not about wanting you safe.”

Cas sighed. “We should talk . . . sometime.”

Dean let out a humorless chuckle, “That’s not what you said last time.”

“Deanꟷ”

“Wait,” Dean pushed up on an elbow, turning to face Cas. “Sam was right, okay? You _were_ being a jerk.” He paused, looking at the angel. It was one of those time when he had no idea what the fuck was happening in that head. “I’m fucked up, okay? When you implied that I was piling on to your crap,” Cas opened his mouth but Dean spoke over him. “No. You did, okay? You also implied I was being unfaithful. And when you do that shit, it makes for a bad mix inside this head. One dying declaration of love slash affirmation isn’t gonna fix that.”

Cas watched him for a minute.

“What?” Dean murmured, feeling stupid all over again.

“That was uncharacteristically vulnerable of you,” Cas said, reaching out and stroking a finger down the side of his face. Dean’s eyes fell shut. “You never cease to amaze me.”

He felt lips press against the crown of his head and then draw away.

“You’re right,” Cas continued.

Dean blinked and croaked, “Can I get that in writing?”

“Dean,” Cas muttered in annoyance. “I was . . . I _have been_ bogged down. Frustrated at work, if you will. And I have been bringing that mindset home with me. I’m sorry you were the focus of my venting. I’m sorry for being a . . . a shitty boyfriend. I was unfair to you, and all you were attempting to do was to help me. You’re far better than I deserve.”

“It’s alright, Cas,” he whispered instead of setting the record straight. “You’re far better than I deserve too. Ain’t gonna stop me from loving you.”

“I love you too, beautiful,” Cas replied, without missing a beat. Dean bristled and preened at the endearment.

“And my fault for not setting a safeword, honestly,” Dean offered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’re basically a billion-year old virgin.”

“It was in no way your fault,” Cas argued in a loud whisper. “Your questionable choices, yes. My hurting you during intercourse? No.”

“We good?”

Cas, the fucker, made a show of thinking about it. He hummed, and then drew Dean close to him. “Yes. It would seem so. If not good, we’re better.”

Dean dropped his head under Cas’s and huffed a laugh against his collarbone. “Hate-fucking is _always_ better.”

“I would _never_ hate-fuck you,” Cas said seriously. _Dork_. “That was a . . . resolution fuck.”

“Sounds stupid,” Dean stifled a yawn and closed his eyes, humming in contentment. He reached out gently to touch Cas’s almost-healed back, “Did I scratch you up again?”

“I don’t think you have the strength of a daeva, Dean.”

Dean popped open an eye and glared at him half-heartedly, “Fuck you too, strong angel-man.”

Cas smiled cheekily in response, “You can’t hurt me unless I let you.”

“Show-off.”

“It still arouses you.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Dean grumbled to hide his blush. He _did not_ know Cas was aware of that. “Go t’ sleep.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas whispered. Dean felt the soft pressure of his lips against his hair.

“And don’t call me ‘beautiful’. I told you to cut that shit out.”

“Yes, Dean,” he could _hear_ the grin in the asshole’s voice.

“Asshole.”

“We could resolve things again, if you’d like.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” Dean groaned. “No, shut up. I’m old, I’m dead, and I want a fucking nap in my strong angel-man’s arms.”

Cas muttered disgruntledly, “Yes, Dean.”

“Sex addict,” Dean teased. Or tried to. He wasn’t sure if it made it.

*****

Sam was trying to be open-minded. But he _did_ _not_ want his daughter watching French porn with Balthazar and a drugged-out Gabriel. Sue him, he’s old fashioned that way. The mental scars would never go away.

[She’s an adult.] Eileen shrugged. She looked equally weirded out, though. The two of them had disappeared from the room _fast_. Now they sat on Dean’s Baby, Sam cross-legged and Eileen lounging back on the hood, staring up at the stars.

[Stars look different here.] Sam signed, after what felt like hours of silence. His internal clock was completely mucked in Heaven.

[Still pretty.] Eileen nodded.

Sam grinned and glanced at her. She grinned back after a beat and they signed together, [Not as pretty as you.]

They dissolved into childish snickers. Wasn’t even that funny.

[Imagine being that sappy.] Sam signed, still chortling.

Eileen rolled her eyes, [Too Destiel for me.]

[Right? We’re not sappy.]

[Nope. Also less on the communication issues.]

[We’re basically evolved.]

[Oh, for sure.]

They sat in smug silence, until he felt Eileen poke his knee. He turned and laid down beside her.

“So . . . we need to talk about John,” she said, turning to face him as well, resting her head on her hands.

Sam sighed. [Movie references? How dare you.]

She shrugged, unapologetic.

[He’s half the reason everything’s fucked right now and I should’ve seen it coming.] Sam continued.

Eileen gave him a sad smile and reached out to cup his cheek. Sam closed his eyes against the callouses on her fingertips. “Did you manage to get a hold of Mary?”

Sam nodded slowly, not wanting to dislodge her palm yet. “She’s at Bobby and Karen’s for a while. Said she’d let the others know.”

“I bet she’s only there for the dogs,” Eileen laughed.

Sam grinned, remembering Bobby’s irate text rant about _that idjit angel_. Apparently, a mildly concussed Castiel had delivered a bunch of dogs to Bobby’s, including Rumsfeld. Bobby, the softie, couldn’t do much beyond set them up in the backyard. Sam was pretty sure the dogs had taken the bed and Karen and Bobby were camping on the floor. [I agree.]

“Though Karen’s food,” she let out a moan and Sam opened his eyes, pouting.

[How come you don’t make that noise when Iꟷ] He’s cutting off there because he likes his personal life personal. He’s not _Dean_ , thank you very much.

[That’s for you to figure out.]

Sam turned onto his back. John had a silent partner. Someone who was strong and probably more powerful than the angels in their crew, given that they somehow managed angel bullets that could harm Archangels. No clue who that could be.

Or too many clues.

“I still think Anael isn’t the mole,” Eileen said, reading his mind. Sam sighed. He didn’t have the same faith in the angel. She was a businesswoman, after all. With an astonishing lack of obligations.

“Why would she call Cas to get Hannah, if she was?” Eileen added.

Sam nodded halfheartedly. “Is it bad that I wasn’t really shocked when he turned on us?”

Sam stilled, listening to Eileen’s soft breaths beside him, in the ensuing quiet. She hummed, “If it was a healthy parental relationship . . . but you and John,” she paused, hesitating. Sam turned his head towards her and completed, “I’ve always painted him as a villain.”

She let out a loud breath, “Yeah. Apparently, you were right. Somehow.”

Sam laughed without humor. Never been this disappointed about being right. “Didn’t expect him to be this dumb. I don’t know why. Always saw him as a headstrong asshole who didn’t give a shit about anything but his mission. But I’m having trouble believing that he heard some heavenly gossip and decided to point a gun at Dean.”

Before Eileen could respond, he heard Balthazar call out, “If you’re done defiling your brother’s car, we have a visitor.”

Sam deflated. Eileen gave him an apologetic grin, leaning over for a kiss. Sam reciprocated, wondering why he couldn’t just have this forever. This should be his Heaven. Not angelic pissing matches and baby Gods interrupting his me-time.

*****

“Ah, there we go. Good, now that we’re all here,” Crowley slapped his palms together, oblivious to the range of contemptuous glares being levelled at him. Or enjoying them, most probably. “Any developments on the mole?”

Dean, leaning against Cas and pretending they weren’t holding hands, frowned. “Uh . . . what do you care?”

Crowley gave him such a pitying look, Sam had to hold back a giggle. “Squirrel,” he narrowed his eyes. “I assume Castiel choked you too hard and cut off the oxygen supply to your brain.”

Dean and Cas went red and wide-eyed.

Oh, gross. When did they have time to _have sex_? More importantly, why was he asking questions he didn’t want answers to?

“There’s a mole in your shiny new halo-land. Moles are bad. Ergo, we need to deal with them.”

“Cut the crap,” Sam snapped, refusing to look at his brother and Cas. “You know damn well what Dean meant. We’re not working with you, Crowley. _We don’t trust you_.”

“Ah, Sam,” the demon held a hand to his chest. “Why, I thought we had something special.”

“Listen, demon Jesus,” Gabe snapped.

“Yes, birdie?” Crowley grinned. “By the way, huge fan of your work.”

The Archangel paused. Balthazar jumped in, “You have a history of stabbing your accomplices in the back. Excuse us for not wanting the same fate.”

“You’d know all about being stabbed in the back, wouldn’t you, Balthazar. I wonder why you choose to help Castiel after that little betrayal . . . unless, you aren’t.”

Balthazar stepped forward, eyes flashing, “How dare youꟷ”

“Wait, Balthazar,” Cas commanded. He stepped forward, eyes boring into Crowley. “What do you know?”

Sam frowned. The others felt the same, apparently, and there was a wave of protests. Cas refused to budge down, turning a stern look to Balthazar’s more vocal ones. With Balthazar piping down, most others did too. Sam glanced at Dean. Dean looked apprehensive too, biting his lip in worry. On the couch, Claire was outright scowling.

“I know a lot of things, old friend,” Crowley had that smug grin back in place. There was a challenging glint in his eye as he met Cas’s cold look. “But on the matter of the Heavenly sitcom? I’m afraid I know little. Still juicy, mind you.” He spun away from Cas and walked to Dean. Sam tensed in anticipation. He felt a pinch against his bicep and met Eileen’s wide gaze. He looked back at the demon, who was digging into his pocket now. Before Sam could call out a warning, Crowley was spinning back and tossing something at Cas, “Think fast, Feathers.”

Shit, the grace Dean had found.

How the hell had Crowley gotten it?

Cas caught the vial clumsily. He frowned and peered down at it. “Wait, this is . . .”

“Siphoned grace. Yes. Your near and dear ones went to great lengths to hide it. Of course, angel warding doesn’t much deter me, right Moose?”

Cas glanced at Sam, shock and hurt in his gaze. Before Sam could say anything, Balthazar was stepping forward, “Cas, wait. It was by my instruction that the Winchesters cloaked it from you.”

“Why?” Cas demanded. Before Balthazar could respond, Charlie let out a cry of warning. Everyone turned back to Crowley. Too late.

With a flick of his wrist, Crowley arched a finger towards Cas. A stream of red shot to the vial Cas was holding, engulfing his fist.

_Crack!_

It wasn’t until light swirled in the room that Sam realized Crowley hadn’t stolen the grace. He’d broken the vial.

The light got bright. Too bright.

“Shut your eyes!” Gabriel screamed and Sam complied, wrapping an arm around Eileen to turn her away. It took a long time for the light and whine of grace to die down. When it did, Sam stayed frozen in position. Eileen pulled away first and turned. Sam followed her.

Cas was kneeling on the ground, wide-eyed and shaking. His gaze was fixed on the floor.

“Cas!” Dean was moving to the angel. He saw Deanna dart after him, to stop him as everyone else was shouting at him to. Sam had barely a second to feel anxiety before there was a warm, powerful blast that sent everyone flying.

The blast had come from Cas. Eileen gasped beside him, so he sat up quickly. Deanna was okay, Dean had her head cushioned against him. Dean looked mildly dazed, but there was no blood on the wall he’d hit. Claire had pulled Charlie down behind the couch, and they were struggling out from where they’d been sandwiched between it and the wall. Balthazar and Gabriel were standing tall and unaffected. Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

And Cas.

He was standing in the middle of the room, glowing with grace. His eyes were flashing dangerously with white light. And there were three sets of wings unfurled behind him.

Castiel’s wings were amazing. They were a midnight black, gleaming blue. But where supernova light fell on them, they seemed to shine with at least ten different shades. The wings rose, and then beat again. The same warm gust spread across the room, slamming Sam back again. He groaned, shutting his eyes.

He heard someone call out to the angel as the light died. He opened his eyes.

Cas was nowhere to be seen.

*****


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! On the plus side, my finals went great this time so I can't say I regret the complete loss of my sense of time.

_“Don’t step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish.”_

_“Of course, brother.”_

_“Can you recall anything since sundown?”_

_Castiel frowned._

_“No_ _ꟷ I_ _ꟷ”_

_“Good,” his brother said. “Do you remember me?”_

_Castiel felt the stirrings of an emotion. But that wasn’t right. Angels didn’t feel emotions. So he tamped down on it and shook his head. The angel placed a hand against his arm and peered at him, “Castiel, I am Raphael. I am your superior, for I was among the first of our Father’s creations.”_

_Castiel nodded. “You were punished, Castiel.”_

_At his pause, Raphael continued, “For disobedience. You committed grave transgressions . . . against our Lord and against your brethren. Michael, His best and brightest, showed you mercy. Are you aware of Lucifer’s fate?”_

_“The Morningstar. He was cast down to the pits of Hell. For . . .” Castiel frowned. He could not recall. “For . . .”_

_“For crimes nearly as grave as the ones you committed. We did not cast you unto Hell, Castiel, for the Lord showed you mercy. Remember that.”_

And then, further back.

_“Thank you, Cassiel,” Gavriel reached out with his vessel’s arm, placing a palm against Cassiel._

_“Of course, brother. I bid you a safe flight,” Cassiel responded, heart twisting. This would be the last time they’d interact, come what may. Gavriel’s journey was wrought with dangers. Cassiel wished he could follow, but he had given his word. He would stay uninvolved. The only aid Gavriel had allowed him was as a guide to the edge of Ether. To the gates that lead to Earth._

_“My journey may be arduous, brother. But you must realize, I wouldn’t wish your fate upon an enemy. Watch your back . . . there is danger afoot in our Father’s abode.”_

_Cassiel nodded, pushing away his grief. “I will miss you.”_

_“And I you,” Gavriel had smiled at him. He felt the tips of Gavriel’s wings brush against the top of his form. And then he’d stepped out of the Ether._

_Cassiel was left behind._

And what came after. Days of tentative interactions, rampant distrust among the Seven. His Father’s refusal to grant them audience. The Lord, for the first time, pulling away from his Archangels, separating his consciousness.

_He stood with his back against the pillar. After Lucifer’s actions . . . Cassiel had grown wary. He had approached his Father, enquiring after Lucifer’s crimes. All that the Archangels had been told was that Lucifer let corruption into humanity. For he was envious of the love the Almighty bestowed upon his new creations._

_And yet, after thousands of years serving alongside his brother as the Lord’s foremost . . . Cassiel had doubts._

_He concentrated on Raphael’s voice as he conversed with the Lord._

_He heard them talk of Gavriel. Cassiel smiled fondly . . . they weren’t meant to have favorites, being agents of justice. And yet, time and time again, Cassiel found himself favoring Gavriel._

_“Father, Gavriel forewarned Lucifer of our attack. Are You going to do nothing about his treachery?”_

_Cassiel frowned. Raphael had always been too arrogant. Too self-important. And jealous of the adoration Gavriel garnered from the angels._

_Cassiel knew of Gavriel’s warning, of course. He’d aided him, to some extent. But it wasn’t treachery, it was a mere act of love. Gavriel had engaged in his Father’s prime commandment . . . to love every Being equally, be it angel or Earth-dweller or Himself._

_“I know of Gavriel’s actions, Raphael,” the Lord had responded. “You must see what unfolded for what it was . . . an act of love and not betrayal.”_

_Cassiel felt himself calm down. He felt awash with shame for ever doubting the actions of the Lord. He vowed to seek penance._

_“It was as I wrote,” the Lord laughed. “Oh, Raphael! These complex characters . . . Lucifer, the antagonist. Gavriel, the traitor.”_

_Cassiel froze, a cold feeling seeping into his Grace._

_“And Cassiel, the reluctant ally. My plot twist.”_

_And suddenly, there was pain unlike anything Cassiel had felt in the multitudinous battles he had fought in his Father’s name._

He recalled awakening to immense pain.

_“Father, please!” Michael was calling._

_“Michael, the Lord has spoken. Do you question Him?” Raphael was shouting. His voice made Cassiel’s brain throb._

_“Father . . . not on the heels of Lucifer’s punishment. If You cast Cassiel down . . . the Host will be afeared of You.”_

_“As they should be!”_

_“Enough, Raphael,” it was the Lord’s voice. For the first time, it did nothing to soothe Cassiel. “Michael, you are correct. I cannot bear to lose more of My children to doubt.”_

_“Lord, if You’ll forgive me for asking . . . then what_ should _we do with the traitors?”_

_Cassiel pulled himself to consciousness. He was aware of Michael, Raphael and his Father. And . . . Gavriel. He felt despair. Gavriel had been captured. After everything._

_“As a writer, there is much I have realized, children,” the Lord was addressing the entire host of Heaven. “The power of rewriting is among those . . . Gavriel. You shall be cast from Heaven.”_

_“No,” Cassiel moaned. “Father, please.”_

_“You shall be Gabriel. The failure among the brightest and best of Heaven. You will be an example. And since you so thoroughly enjoying delivering news . . . that shall remain your domain.”_

_Cassiel tried to move his essence to approach the Lord before he could strike down his brother. But he found himself frozen in place._

_“And Cassiel. You shall be nothing.”_

_“Don’t hurt him!” Gavriel . . . Gabriel. No, Gavriel was shouting in despair. Cassiel felt the pain recur, engulfing his being. He screamed._

_“Do with him as you please, son. This is your reward for obedience, My brightest.”_

_Lucifer?_

_No . . . it was Michael. Michael had been raised by Father. Cassiel gasped at the incongruence of a gentle warmth upon the top of his form._

_“Cassiel . . . you will be punished for your doubt. For your willfulness. I, by the behest of our Lord, strip you of your power. You will be remade into a Seraph. And for your ungrateful acts of malice, you shall be subject to the same.”_

_Cassiel felt a new presence among them . . . a lesser angel. Naomi, the angel offered. The angel approached him and the last thing he recalled was the gleeful whisper, “Good night, sweet prince.”_

Castiel . . . Cassiel found himself leaning against glass doors.

He’d been remade. He had been broken and remade over and over again. Naomi hadn’t just stolen his memories . . . she’d stolen everything. By Michael’s command. By Chuck’s command. The heavy despair from his last year on Earth reared its ugly head again. All he had been was a failed rewrite. Cassielꟷ _Castiel_ felt rage. A great amount of it. Then he realized where his wings had brought him.

“I see you couldn’t resist temptation, Cassiel,” Naomi smiled, unalarmed.

“You bitch,” Cas bit out.

“Such crude language,” Naomi sneered. “You’re undeserving of the power within your vessel. No worries, I shall take it right off your hands.”

Castiel frowned. And then he froze.

He couldn’t get his essence to cooperate.

Naomi laughed at the panic on his vessel’s face, “Cas _siel_. The eternally broken toy. I have torn into your grace, Cassiel. I know exactly how to make you into a puppet. Or do you not recall slaughtering thousands of copies of your beloved ape? Remember vanquishing millions of humans at Heaven’s command?”

Cas seethed.

“I wasn’t expecting an audience for this,” Naomi continued. “But I do have work to get back to. So hang tight, till I get to you.” Cas started to struggle, watching in apprehension as Naomi walked away.

_This couldn’t be good._

He willed the new grace to respond . . . but that was just it. It was familiar and unfamiliar. Old and new. Cas couldn’t make it comply, after so long a severance.

“What are you doing?” Cas called out. Naomi ignored him, save for a small smirk. She was pulling open a panel in the wall at the back of the office.

As it came away, two blackened masses tumbled out.

Cas froze.

_No._

“Oh, yes. Recognize your pals?”

One of the vessels jolted, and abruptly, Cas realized they were still alive.

“Ah, Samandriel. Such naivete as you exhibit _must_ be punished.” Naomi had manifested her blade, and she slashed across Samandriel’s charred throat. Think wisps of grace leeched out. Cas let out a ragged cry. Samandriel would not survive losing his grace.

“Naomi, this is sadism!” he called out.

“Oh, I know!” she let out a laugh. It was entirely possible that Naomi had completely lost her mind. Suddenly, she ceased her horrible glee and looked down at the gathered grace. “Well, that’s barely enough.”

“Enough for what?” Cas asked, knowing it was fruitless.

She merely ran Samandriel’s destroyed vessel through with her blade. He made no sound as he collapsed. Cas stared at the mutilated corpse of his brethren. A gurgling sound drew his attention.

His head snapped to the second charred vessel . . . he recognized her immediately.

“No,” he begged. “Please, Naomi, don’t.”

“Hush, Cassiel,” she crooned in a facsimile of tenderness. He struggled anew and felt his grace loosen. He started inching towards Israfil’s body. Naomi moved the other way. She walked to the other corner and closed her eyes, chanting something over the cupped grace.

Castiel pulled himself closer to Isra. He was close enough to touch her if he stretched his arms. If he _could_ will his arms to stretch. His vessel was just as paralyzed as his grace had been. His old wings barely cooperating in pushing him ahead.

Naomi took apart her palms and the grace vanished.

Cas groaned out in pain as he stretched his wings to encircle his sister. Isra whined, moving towards him.

**_Israfil, if you hear me, come closer. Please, I know it hurts, but your life is in danger._ **

He received no response, and he closed his eyes as he pushed harder. Naomi was still turned away from them. If he could just . . .

Pain coursed through his being. Castiel screamed. He must have lost consciousness for a moment, because when he came to, Naomi was before him. She was smiling in delight.

“I did wonder if a broken wing hurt as bad for Archangels. I’m sure I’ll put this knowledge to good use,” and before he could blink, her hand swiped out towards Isra’s unprotected form. He had failed. And his punishment were the ragged whimpers that emanated from the angel’s destroyed vessel. Naomi drained her grace and stood up from her crouch. She turned to Castiel.

No. She was looking at someone beyond him. “Kill her.”

Choking out against the agony coursing through him, Castiel protested, “No, no, no, please. Take me instead, please, Naomi.”

“I’m not touching her, Cassiel,” Naomi sang out as she strode back to the corner of the room. He turned to beg to the accomplice, expecting John Winchester, though befuddled by the man’s ability to harm an Archangel. He saw Hannah.

She moved over to Israfil’s cowering form. She ignored the other’s rasped pleas, “Hannah, please. I nursed you back to health . . . Please.” And she struck with her blade.

Cas felt despair wash over him. Then Hannah turned to face him and he saw the stream of red from the corner of her eye.

Naomi noticed his shock and bragged, “Ah, yes. A broken angel, I’ve learnt, is easiest to break again. It was laughably easy to infiltrate into your quaint home, Cassiel. I harvested Hannah’s grace _nightly_. And neither you, nor your useless human, realized. And then you hid her in the Garden. You dropped my best weapon into my lap!”

He swallowed, refusing to rise to Naomi’s baiting. This was not his fault. It was hers.

“Why?” he demanded. She hummed playfully, approaching his prone form. Before he could react, she brought her foot down on his injured wing. She spoke over his cry, “I know you’re unfamiliar with the concept, Cassiel. But order . . . order is the true beauty of existence. And you and your Winchesters have been nothing but forces of chaos.”

She stepped away, leaving Cas convulsing on the floor, struggling to catch his breath. “Your new empire is _ruled_ by chaos. And oh, you stole the throne of Heaven from our rightful Lord!” she was moving to the steel desk across from him. “This is me fixing your mistakes. You left too many weak spots. But one can’t expect you to learn from errors. After all, you don’t remember very many.”

“Fine,” Cas spat out, shoving up onto his forearms. “You’ve captured me. But I don’t see how you plan on taking on _God._ You’re merely a ‘pencil-pusher’.” He smiled, thinking of Dean’s reaction to the appropriate usage. Once again, Naomi ignored him. Cassiel felt anger and worry flare.

“I’ve come to enjoy my daily chats with _our Lord_ ,” she mused, seemingly out of nowhere. “I do find it odd, however, that your spies never realized what was truly going on.”

She put a hand to her throat, drawing out a chain. At the end of it was a vial with a few drops of grace.

Castiel felt what felt like his heart falling into his stomach.

Grace that glowed gold. She smiled, “Then again, you can’t outthink the _pencil-pushers_.”

*****

Dean was having a genuine panic attack, but Sam didn’t know what to do. He let Deanna deal with his brother as he turned to the angels left behind.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded.

Balthazar looked as stunned as the rest of them, but Gabriel looked downright shifty.

“Did Cas just like, upgrade?” Charlie squeaked. She was white-knuckling the back of the couch, glancing at Dean worriedly.

“Eh . . .” Gabriel replied. Sam turned back to the Archangel, but he was beaten to the punch by Claire. Claire stalked over to Gabriel and demanded, “Explain. Now. Or I eviscerate you.”

“Geez, Louise! Hold it, okay. Just . . .” Gabriel let out a sharp breath. “Dean-o, you doing okay?”

Dean, still crouched in his seat with his head between his knees, stuck out a thumb.

“Ah,” Gabriel cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I’m sure we’re all wondering what just happened. So,” he cleared his throat again and Sam snapped, “Gabriel!”

“Okay, okay!”

He paused.

“So . . . Ya’ll remember that little rumor about the God-assassin?”

He paused again, probably for dramatic effect because he was a little shit. Claire let out what sounded like a growl.

“So, um, I kinda _knew_ that wasn’t true. Mostly ‘cuz I _knew_ ‘Cassiel’,” he looked at Balthazar nervously. “I mean, we all did.”

“Is this like some split personality thing?” Charlie demanded. Dean started looking mildly panicky again, so Gabriel interrupted, “No. Not really. Okay, you need to know, _I_ didn’t even know until like, Luci killed me in Apocalypseworld. I got to the Empty, I’m guessing I was eternally sleeping for a while, until Jack sort of came over and bombed. Literally.”

Claire took a step back, and he shot her a nervous grin.

“And then, I met the others. The original Archangels.”

“The theory about the seven original Archangels.” Sam breathed. “It wasn’t fake?”

“Nope, just a bit of tampering on Daddy-o’s part,” Gabe shrugged. “So . . . there were seven of us. The new and improved version, plus three.”

“One of them, Ramiel, he helped Lucifer in his battle against God. _Numero uno_ , that is. And Dad rewrote him as a Prince of Hell.”

“Fuck,” Dean whispered. “Do you think he would’ve recognized Cas?”

“Hm . . . Can’t say. He did gloat about ‘dooming to a dreary demise’ another angel. Like, what’s with the alliterations, dickface?”

“That was Cas,” Sam offered. “He stuck him with this Lance of Michael.”

“Right,” his eyes darted to Dean’s crouched form. Sam resisting ordering everyone out of the room to give his brother some space. “Okay, so. In the battle between God and Lucifer, I kinda went A.W.O.L. Because I’d sent Lucifer a message warning him of a sneak attack. I’d seen what had happened to Ramiel, so I knew I had to disappear.”

“That’s why you left?” Balthazar whispered. “You aided Lucifer?”

“I aided both sides, because I couldn’t choose,” Gabe snapped. “And I still got punished for it. Dad caught me, rewrote me.”

Suddenly Sam could see Gabriel’s insistence about them ‘playing their roles’ in a new light. If Chuck had rewritten Gabe for refusing to play his role . . .

“He clearly had a sense of humor, ‘cuz I was made into ‘Gabriel, Messenger of God.’ As for Michael, well, he sucked Daddy’s dick so good, God made him his _primo_ lapdog. That’s when he gifted him the Lance. He’d have chosen Raphael, but that ninja turtle still had a few braincells of his own. Chuck couldn’t have that.”

Gabriel paused.

“What . . . what happened to Cas?” Dean whispered. Sam looked at his brother, noting the veil of shock setting in. Dean was pale, hands trembling as he rubbed them over his face.

“Cas always had too much heart. He was the best damn strategist to ever be created. And Chuck may have hemmed and hawed, but he couldn’t lose that. When he found out that Cassiel had helped me escape, he made Naomi.”

“Oh God,” Sam whispered, horrifying realizations dawning on him.

“She broke Cassiel apart and remade him. Over and over. Sometimes they’d do it in one go, sometimes they’d wait millennia to see if the new version ‘worked’,” Gabe spat. “He was Qasfiel, at first. Remade into a Seraph of the lowest order. But baby bro was smart. He rose through the ranks quickly, and he started intervening with the humans. When he tried to save Cain and Abel, they broke him down again. They made him into Castiel. And they didn’t stop. This time around, they kept messing with his head. Every time he’d disobey, no matter how inconsequential the order, they tortured him.”

There was silence in the room, save for Dean’s heavy breathing. Sam stopped Gabriel, “Wait, let’s back up a bit. You said there were seven of you. Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, you, or Gavriel, I guess. Ramiel, and Cassiel. Who was the seventh Archangel?”

“There wasn’t as much drama as there was angst there. Jophiel. Angel of Beauty. He had an unfortunate mental breakdown. He severed his own grace, deforming himself. He was reborn as the pacifist angel who tended to the Garden.”

“Joshua,” Balthazar breathed raggedly. “Joshua was an Archangel.”

Gabriel nodded.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Charlie swore. “This shit is too fucking intense.”

Sam let out a hysterical bark of laughter, ducking his head at the few incredulous looks that garnered.

“Okay,” Dean interrupted. “Enough with the history lesson. Where’s Cas now?”

“No clue,” Gabriel shrugged. “One would expect that torrent of memories to put him into a straight coma. _That_ didn’t happen.”

“Yeah, Cas never does anything by halves,” Sam muttered.

“Naomi’s been torturing him for eternity. I’m guessin’ he’s headed straight to her,” Dean groaned. “He’s gonna need back-up.”

Dean pushed to his feet and Sam’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wait, Dean, we need a plan.”

“Yeah? Well here ya’ go; find Cas and help him deep fry Naomi’s wings. Extra crispy.”

“Dean, Sam’s right,” Eileen insisted. [Naomi had Cas’s grace. We have no idea why. And John’s probably been working with her. Naomi’s clearly the mole.]

“What about Jo?” Claire frowned.

“After I handed you Hannah on a platter?” everyone turned her. She was leaning against a wall, behind Balthazar and Gabriel. Sam had no idea how long she’d been there. “And by the way, good job on losing her again.”

Sam groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was too fucking much. He looked good for his age, but Sam was too fucking old for this bullshit.

“We can only go up from here,” Charlie declared. “We can only go up from here, yup. This is the lowest point. Plot goes up from here.”

This time Dean let out a hysterical bark of laughter, and Deanna immediately clapped a hand on his back.

“Okay, fuck it. We need everyone for this,” Claire ordered. “Sam, call your Mom and Bobby. Charlie, we’re getting you a laptop. You and Ash need to figure out where Cas and Naomi are. Angel crew, call Jack and any other angel who can help us. Deanna and Eileen, you’re with me.”

Everyone stood still for a minute.

“Today!” she snapped, and everyone jumped into action.

*****

“So you _didn’t_ file a report with the police?” Jack summarized, tone careful.

“Look, I’m legally dead now,” Harper frowned at them. An aura of defensiveness permeated her. “And I _have_ been searching high and low all of last month. I _bought a cabin_ in the town he was taken from.”

“Harper,” Jack hurried to apologize. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t taking this seriously.”

“No,” she sighed. “No, I get it. When we met . . . I was kinda nuts.”

Jack sighed too. It felt appropriate. “It’s okay. You’ve changed. For the better.”

She looked up in surprise. She felt fond as she responded, “You seem calmer. You’ve changed too.”

Jack blinked in surprise. They didn’t _feel_ calm. They turned back to their notes:-

“Okay, so we don’t have much,” she groaned.

“Uh,” Jack didn’t want to lie. But they definitely wanted to alleviate her despair. They cast a look around. Ira would have distracted Harper with their exuberant persona. Jack was more . . . confused. “Coffee?”

“What?”

“I think we can use a break. Let’s have some coffee. I’ve started to enjoy coffee.” They were God. They should have better control about something as simple as coffee, but . . . well, they didn’t. Coffee was versatile. You could have it cold and hot and sweet and bitter and cheap and expensive. Why did the Winchesters have only bitter and hot coffee? Did they not know about the others? Come to think of it, they’d never seen the Winchesters visit a Starbucks. They should take them a sampler on their next visit.

Plus, Cas liked coffee _a lot_. Probably next only to Dean. Maybe Jack could take Cas a new type of coffee on every visit . . . to start showing more appreciation. Cas would hate any overt, grand gestures. But he’d probably enjoy small, seemingly straightforward gestures.

“Jack?” Harper was calling them. “Uh, he’ll have a cappuccino.”

Jack blinked. They were at the coffee shop. The barista was leveling an annoyed look at them.

“Yes,” they had no idea what they were ordering. “A cappuccino.” Unbidden, the images came to them. Frothed milk, steam and sweet. That sounded nice. They smiled at Harper as she led him to the waiting line.

“Oh,” Jack realized. “Uh, it’s not ‘he’ anymore. It’s they.”

Harper paused, peering up at them curiously. “Was it that when you came to my town?”

“No, I didn’t know about pronouns and stuff then. Now,” they paused as she tapped their arm.

“You don’t have to explain to me. I was just worried I’d assumed back then. Are you even into girls?” Jack’s brain screeched to a halt. “See, this is why we wouldn’t have worked out. You were still figuring yourself out and I was just coming out of a serious, slightly messed-up relationship.”

One epiphany a day. Thankfully, the barista called their order soon after.

They went walking through the forest at the edge of the Engineering building. Harper was talking about her boyfriend. Jack was contemplating whether they should tell her about them being, well, God. But she didn’t push, so they kept quiet.

“Ooh! One time, he bet that I couldn’t recite ‘the Hobbit’ entirely. Except, you know, I’ve read that book like, fifty times in the last few decades. So of course, I won.”

Jack smiled. “What did you win?”

“He had to give me this secret recipe his mom used to make. Peanut butter brownies. So good,” she moaned. Jack laughed. They walked in comfortable silence, Jack nudging her away from bugs or worms on the ground, every once in a while.

“You’re a good person, Jack,” she said after a while. “And a good friend.”

Huh, they hadn’t realized that the two of them were friends. That made sense. Harper was nice enough, when she wasn’t trying to kill people. They turned to inform Harper of the same when a movement caught their eye. And a strange surge of grace.

They spun to a bright light exploding around the woods. Harper let out a scream.

Jack lost time. They felt odd . . . tired and sleepy and weak? Their eyes opened to . . . the Garden? Their form was bound. And . . . Harper. She’d been captured as well. She was unconscious, bound to what looked like a metal pole planted in the soil, across from the tree in the centre. Jack themselves was against the tree, hands inside the trunk behind their back, locked in place. Jack couldn’t pull free.

Their bond was . . . out of reach. They couldn’t call Amara for help. Or the angels.

“Awake?”

Jack’s head jerked to the voice. He knew that voice.

“John Winchester?”

*****

John Winchester was masked completely. Jack couldn’t even figure out what was masking the hunter. And he wasn’t talking either, so Jack had no idea why he was doing this. It _couldn’t_ be because of Dean and Cas again. Because that just . . . made no sense. At all.

Harper was awake too, gagged and terrified. Jack didn’t need their powers to feel her emotions . . . her eyes were wide and unblinking.

“John,” Jack tried again.

“Shut up. Don’t make me hit the sigils again.”

And that was another troubling thing. John Winchester had somehow figured out how to siphon Jack’s grace. Jack had assumed that the miniscule diminishing of their grace was coming from well, the running of the world.

But in the forest, they’d felt the huge drain. That would’ve been the sigil. It wasn’t Enochian, Aramaic, Sanskrit, Latin, or any modern language they could think of. It was a new sigil. And John had been smart, siphoning Jack’s grace minutely and regularly.

And now Jack was trapped with no means of calling anyone. The Garden was empty, for some strange reason. No Israfil, no Joshua, no one. It was as if the angels were somehow being persuaded to not enter. Spell-work? Who could be strong enough to bespell the most powerful, uncorruptible part of Heaven? He didn’t know of any such practitioner in existence.

John kept checking his watch. Jack couldn’t sense any emotions and the vacuum in their head felt loud and heavy. But John was impatient.

“You’re waiting for someone,” they guessed.

“Smart kid,” John chuckled. His eyes flitted across the captives. “Don’t worry your head about it.”

Jack started to twist their arms again, hoping for . . . something. Some way to break lose. The Tree was strong and old and pure. And Jack was depowered. They weren’t having any luck. And then there was an odd, shushing noise.

“Don’t worry, Godling. I’m not here for you yet,” Jack’s eyes widened. The form was different, but Jack recognized that expression.

“You the Empty?” John groused, slipping off his perch on a large rock.

“In the flesh,” it bowed. Jack ran their eyes over its form . . . it looked like Samandriel’s vessel. Except for the twisted smile on its face. “It’s borrowed, but the original occupant is currently . . . undisposed, bordering on traumatized.” It turned its oily grin to Jack. “These silly millennials. Can’t even take a little bit of torture.”

Jack felt his heart drop. Samandriel wasn’t dead.

“Oh, oops! Our shared accomplice mentioned that Jack wasn’t aware of the dying angels,” it tittered, turning back to John.

Dying angels? Samandriel was dead? The Empty could be lying, of course. But why would it. And how else did it acquire his vessel? John looked like he was sucking on a lemon as well.

And the shared accomplice . . . they had a traitor. _Other_ than John Winchester.

“How are you in Heaven?” Jack growled, struggling anew.

It merely laughed, skipping past the hunter to approach the pole where Harper was. Harper froze, as though stillness would somehow make her undetectable. It didn’t.

“Well, is this your little show of good faith?”

“I’m guessin’. I was told to keep the Godling. You can have whatever you want,” John shrugged.

Jack started panicking, “Wait! She’s not dead; you can’t take her!”

The Empty laughed. “Neither was your _dear_ Castiel. I still did.”

“Well, you don’t have the power of a deal here. You can’t just go about stealing souls from any realm you desire.”

“Why not? You did it. Castiel was mine. Those other angels? Mine. Sam and Dean Winchester? Also mine.”

“Why are you doing this? Because a few angels escaped? You still have billions of souls.”

It dropped its nonchalant attitude, turning to stalk over to Jack. At least it left Harper’s side. She visibly deflated. But then it was standing front of Jack. “You _Winchesters_ ,” it spat. “I was happy being asleep. I was nothing, and it was everything to me. And then, that badly dressed angel of yours decides to wake up, waking _me_ up. And then he steals you away from me. And _then_ , you have the fucking gall to steal him back, when I finally had him where I wanted. And all, all, _all_ I want is to be happy! To sleep!”

Jack took a calming breath. The Empty couldn’t harm them. It could harm _Harper_. But it could also harm John. “So you want souls to what, help you sleep?”

“I just want to make you _Winchesters_ pay! And then sleep! Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.”

Jack wasn’t the prime authority on social interaction, but they realized that the Empty was cuckoo for chocolate puffs.

“Harper isn’t a Winchester,” Jack proposed carefully. “And we both know you can’t touch me. But you know who else is a Winchester here?”

The Empty froze, turning to look at John, who was looking more and more alarmed. It appraised the hunter before humming, “Hm . . . you’re Daddy Winchester! I can taste that reek of self-righteous hero complex from you too!”

“Now, look here,” John started, arm creeping back to reach for the gun in his holster.

“Don’t worry, you’re protected. For now. I might snag you later, though. After we achieve our shared goal.” It grinned madly, winking at Jack. “Top secret, Godling.” It started laughing. And then, before Jack could react, it seemed to implode into black goo, shooting straight towards . . .

“ _Harper!”_ John yelped, clapping his hands onto his ears at Jack’s true voice. The Empty didn’t care. It engulfed Harper, her fading scream doing nothing to save her.

It took a corporeal form again, this time looking like Harper. “Nom nom nom! That was a feast! That was some powerful witchy bones.” It winked at Jack. “T-T-Y-L!”

It disappeared into black sludge, leaving two Winchesters panting in the ensuing silence.

*****

The first knock on the door brought Kaia Nieves and Jimmy Novak to the Dean-Cas household. Sam was the one who answered, because Dean was either regressing to his old ways or just plain sulking. His brother was perched behind the kitchen island and nestling a glass of whiskey. It was only his first, so Sam could hope to dream.

“Hi Sam,” Kaia greeted with a soft smile. She was older, as Claire had been, than the last time he’d seen her. Her long curls had been chopped roughly to her chin, and there were fine lines pouring out the corner of her eyes.

Sam didn’t even pause before he drew her into a bearhug. “Kaia! How are you?”

She laughed against him, “Well, I’m dead. But I’m happy.”

Sam pulled away with a grin. “Come on in. Claire’s in charge right now.” The girl smirked in response before slipping past him. And then Sam paused.

“Jimmy. Novak,” Sam wasn’t sure what the protocol was here. “Novak.”

“Yeah, uh, hi,” Jimmy Novak was nothing like Castiel. Sam had realized that when they’d met during Apocalypse #1. It was massively f-ed up that Sam had to refer to as that.

And this meeting was no different. Jimmy was, well, more human. He wasn’t as still as Cas tended to be. He also did _not_ stare at you invasively for far too long. In fact, Jimmy seemed to be having a hard time meeting Sam’s gaze at all.

Sam wondered if he was less amendable to their kids’ relationship that Sam himself was. I mean, he was nutty enough allow an angel to possess him in the first place.

“Uh, Kaia didn’t know where you guys lived so . . . here I am,” he shrugged, forcing nonchalance. Sam narrowed his eyes, “Uh-huh. So you _don’t_ want to come in so you can keep an eye on your daughter?”

Jimmy scowled. His gaze abandoned whatever they were fixating on and shifted closer to Sam. Marginally. He came up short and stared at the doorway right above Sam’s head.

“Look, I’m happy to invite you in. Just that, we’re _helping_ Cas in here. Ergo, if you try and punch him again,” Sam started.

“Fuck, I don’t care about that,” he interrupted. “I mean, I do. I guess.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Do you need a minute?”

“No! Look, Claire cares about the guy. I’m not quite sure why, but I’m here to help. To support her,” and now he looked mildly reminiscent of Cas when the angel was supremely annoyed.

Sam raised his hands in surrender and stepped to the side, allowing Jimmy to pass through. Then he went over what the man had said, “Wait, uh.”

This time Jimmy quirked an impatient eyebrow at him.

“So, like,” Sam had no idea how to put this delicately. Did Jimmy even know? Maybe Claire hadn’t told him. “While we’re on the topic of daughters and supporting them.”

He shifted uncomfortably.

Jimmy’s eyebrows crashed back into place with comprehension dawning. He looked away, “We don’t have to discuss it.”

“Right. Cool,” Sam nodded vigorously, clearing his throat in discomfort. He turned back to close the door and retouch the protection sigil on the door. When he turned back, Jimmy had decided not to wait.

He walked back to Dean’s overcrowded living room.

Balthazar, Jo and Gabriel took center stage. The latter was staring listlessly at the board from two inches away, a lollipop stick protruding from his mouth. Gabriel had prescribed himself an unidentified amount of morphine lollipops because, “I’m injured but I’m a good boy about it!”

Meanwhile, Charlie was sitting cross-legged on the brown couch, laptop propped over the back, grasping a phone that displayed an equally hyper-focused Ash as they tried to track Cas and Jack’s ‘grace frequencies’. Sam didn’t even try to figure out what that meant.

Kaia and Claire were nowhere to be found. The other newcomer, Jimmy, was perched awkwardly on the arm of Charlie’s couch. He was directly across from Dean, who was still propped against the kitchen island, glaring a his still full glass as though it had personally wronged him. Eileen was beside him, next to Sam’s abandoned stool, lips moving minutely as she read through a spell book.

Sam smiled fondly at his wife, making his way towards her.

Then he redirected, halfway through. In the absolute corner of the room, next to the giant flatscreen and diagonally across from Jimmy and Charlie, Deanna was tucked into a chair. She had her phone held loosely in her hand, for appearance’s sake, but she wasn’t even looking at it. Occasionally, her eyes would flit to Charlie’s back, or she’d turn back to peek around the corner of the line of wall she was behind to stare at Dean’s glass.

He slowly inched closer and put an arm around her, and relaxed when he felt her melt a bit against him, “What’s up?”

She looked up at him, eyes apprehensive, before diverting with a cocksure grin, “Eh, just not sure if I’m getting any tonight.”

Sam sighed. Well, at least he got that much. His back was to Eileen and Dean, so he just crouched down beside her. “Wanna talk about it? Or, uh, her.” He paused, “I mean, _them_?”

She pulled away, narrowing her eyes at him, albeit with a slight smirk, “I’m the psychologist. You tryna take my job, straight old white man?”

Sam huffed a soft laugh, “Well, the shrink needs someone to lean on as much as her patients. More so. And if you want, I’m right here, sweetheart.”

The smirk gave way to a genuine smile and she wrapped her arms around his shoulder, “’K, Dad. Thanks.”

“No worries,” he smiled, kissing the top of her head.

He wonders if Dean had been watching him, because he had respectfully waited till that conclusion before he claimed, “Okay, clowns. Anyone got anything yet, or is this social hour?”

“You’ve been sitting there reprising your role as the dysfunctional alcoholic for the last half hour,” Balthazar bitched.

“So Balthazar came up blank,” Dean ignored the angel in question, addressing the room at large. “Jo, Gabriel?”

“I mean . . .” Gabriel mumbled. He turned, teetering slightly, to face Dean. Sam could see the evident glaze over his expression.

“Great, our best shot is stoned,” Dean huffed. Beside Sam, Deanna convulsed in quiet laughter.

“Ugh, fine. Leave the competency to me, as usual,” Jo sneered dramatically. “While you all were having your post-life crises, _I_ was actually working.”

“Jesus, we get it,” Sam interrupted. “Can you please cut to the chase?”

She scowled at him, “Obviously, we’re heading to Naomi’s office. And John Winchester’s house. That’s a good starting point.”

“All that warbling was about a _starting point_?” Dean bitched.

“I can’t wipe your ass for you, shithead.”

“Oh, I’ll show you an ass.”

“Please don’t. I have much more refined tastes than your pet angel.”

“Okay, guys, hold on,” Charlie piped. When no one contested her, she jumped up from her position. “Awesome. So, Dean’s right. We need to hurry. Ash and I found a sort of signal . . . but it’s like, fading.”

“Fading. As in getting more distant?” Sam frowned.

“Nope,” her expression was troubled. “As in, stationery but fading.”

“Is it, like, Cas? Or Jack?” Deanna asked carefully.

“No idea. It’s grace, that’s all we know,” she shrugged. She side-eyed Gabriel, “Uh, we’re thinking you’ll be able to hone in on the signal better. Once you’re not, you know . . .”

“You know what would make a great book?” Gabriel burst in. He was completely stoned.

“No, brother. Save it for when your mouth isn’t prone to nonsensical blather,” Balthazar steered Gabriel to the blue couch, shushing any and all complaints. Sam rolled his eyes hard enough that he conceived a headache.

“Right. So, there’s this signal. Also, you guys should see this,” she grabbed her laptop and went over to the kitchen counter. Dean and Eileen abandoned their posts and moved closer, as did everyone else. Save for Gabriel and Balthazar.

“So, we were trying to trace backwards, and we thought. Timestamps, am I right?” she turned to her audience with a wide grin. At the blank response, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the screen. “Whatever, plebs. Look here. Keep watching this line right here.”

Sam looked at the blue soundwave on her screen. After a few moments, the wave expanded sharply before collapsing into its usual shape.

Charlie hit a button and turned to face them, excited and gleeful.

Sam glanced around to see if anyone understood what was happening. Nope.

“That was grace,” Charlie explained. “That explosion? A spike.” She turned back and pointed to the line again. “This is backwards, so after the spike, there was less grace in that signal.”

“So . . .” Jo narrowed her eyes.

“ _So_ , there’s been some activity at the source. I’m guessing . . . uh,” her eyes flitted to Dean. “Grace was lost.”

Sam hissed a sharp breath and glanced at Dean too. His brother had a controlled look on his face, “An angel died.”

“I mean, not necessarily,” she backtracked. “Like, that’s actually a pretty huge reduction. That would mean, like, either a bunch of angels died or,” she froze, biting her lip.

“An Arch died,” Dean finished flatly. Then he drained his glass, turning abruptly to the sink. Eileen met Sam’s gaze behind his back. Sam’s worry was mirrored back to him.

“Dean,” he started.

“Okay, where’s the signal from?” Dean cut him off, refusing to turn back and face them. Sam shut up, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Well, that’s the weird part,” she leaned over her laptop and did some clicking and typing. “It’s like, some place with a _lot_ of residue. And I mean, a _lot_. And it’s not all equally faint. Almost as if that place had constant grace being left there.”

“The offices,” Balthazar muttered. He turned to Jo, “Do you thinkꟷ”

“Yes, that makes sense,” she nodded, eyes wide in realization. “I was right!”

“Goddammit Jo,” Dean groaned.

“Well, I was. We need to go to Naomi’s,” she insisted.

“Hold on a minute, Gina Linetti,” Claire called from behind the collected audience. “Jack’s missing.”

Sam frowned.

“I’ve been praying to Jack. Constantly. No response,” she shrugged. “And he always responds. Even if it’s an emoji-overdosed text.”

“Okay, hold on,” Sam butt in. “How do we go about finding Jack? He could literally be anywhere in the universe.”

“We’re wasting time!” Dean snapped. “We have a lead already. We need to get over there and check it out, beforeꟷ” Dean tore his gaze away, steeling himself.

“Dean’s right,” Eileen piped in. “But if you’re sure Jack’s missing . . .”

“Dammit, Eileen, we can’t abandon Cas!”

“We won’t,” Claire promised. “We have no leads on Jack. Some of us need to stay back and figure that out.”

“So we split up,” Eileen nodded. “We’ll need at least one angel to rescue Jack, though.”

“Okay, you guys figure that out, I’m getting’ my angel blade,” Dean pushed off, making his way to the stairs. “Sammy, you got a minute to touch up your eyeliner.”

Sam scowled.

[Wait.] Eileen grabbed his arm. [You should stay.]

Sam opened his mouth to protest.

[Look, I’ve got a good tracking spell going for Cas from Dean’s feather.]

Right. The feather Dean had grudgingly given to them. Because apparently Cas had given Dean a feather from his wings. Those two were saps.

[So?] Sam questioned.

[So, one of us needs to stay with Deanna.] she quirked an eyebrow at him. And Sam agreed, but he still didn’t see her point. [I need to do the spell.]

Sam suppressed a wince. Eileen was right, of course. But it still felt wrong to not have Dean’s back.

“She’s right, Sam-ba,” Sam jerked in surprise at Gabriel’s interjection. “Plus, Cas will be pissed if he finds out none of TFW went after his precious child.”

Sam hesitated.

“Sam, don’t be co-dependent,” Eileen narrowed her eyes. Then she gently tugged on his hand, “I’ve got Dean’s back, don’t worry.”

“Yup, and an Archangel on that team. Balthy and Anael should stick with you guys . . . they’re sly,” Gabriel shrugged.

“Okay, cool,” Claire chirped. “Charlie, are you on Jack’s case?”

There was a thumbs up in response.

“Great. Dean, Eileen, Gabriel and me on the Cas detail. The rest of you stay back and work on Jack’s case. We leave in five.”

Sam rolled back on his heels, feeling unsettled as he went to lean on the kitchen island. Charlie was watching him with worry in her expression, so Sam waved it off. He listened to the Cas team discuss logistics for a few minutes before he felt the need to step away. He excused himself and headed upstairs to the bathroom.

It took a few splashes, but the cold water did manage to calm him down. He took a few deep breaths, steeling his nerves, and then stepped out.

Dean stood inside his doorway, staring at the wall across him.

“Dean?”

“Sam, hey,” Dean sounded oddly calm.

“Uh . . . hey, man,” Sam approached his brother. “You okay?”

Dean huffed a laugh. Sam waited. Dean didn’t elaborate.

“I’m heading downstairs,” Sam muttered, slowly crossing Dean to reach the stairway.

“Hm.”

Sam made his way downstairs. Kaia and Charlie were perched on the couch, peering at the laptop. Eileen and Deanna were engaged in a conversation with Gabriel. Anael and Balthazar were, of course, fighting.

He should go with Dean. Dean was, in one word, fucked up. Sam couldn’t sit on his ass waiting to track Jack while his brother went off to rescue Cas. Cas, who might be . . . He swallowed. Cas might be gone. No going around that.

It was Cas’s voice that drew him out of his dark thoughts. Right, Jimmy Novak. His voice was drifting from the little alcove at the back of the house, before the deck. Sam inched closer.

“ꟷking adult. Stop trying to control me!” that was Claire. Sam’s eyebrows shot up. He slipped out of the living room and into the alcove when he realized the two were on the deck. Suitably shrouded in the dark, he peeked outside from the screen door.

“It’s not controlling you, okay? I’m asking. I’m begging here,” Jimmy’s voice was low, strikingly reminiscent of Castiel’s. “Why can’t you help with the finding God mission? With me?”

“I’m too keyed up to just sit around and research!” Sam scowled at that. Join the club. “I’m a hunter, okay? This is what I do.”

“You weren’t supposed to be!” Jimmy’s voice rose. Then he continued, quieter, “You said you hunted all your life. Just take it easy now, okay?”

“Castiel could be hurt. He’s probably getting tortured right now! You want me to sit on my ass while my friend’s in trouble? Is that the kind of person you wanted me to be?”

“No, honꟷ”

“Because sorry to disappoint you, I’m not. Cas is my friend. I know you don’t understand that and I get it. But you need to realize that that doofus was the closest thing I had to a dad, once. After. After _you_ abandoned me and Mom for some holy mission from _God_.”

“Claire.”

“I’m going.”

“Claire, waitꟷ”

The screen door banged open and Sam jumped. Claire caught him sneaking and glared with vitriol. Sam gaped and then he gave up, shrugging. She narrowed her eyes at him, “Where’s Dean?”

“Right here, Clarise,” Sam spun at his brother’s voice. Dean stood at the entryway to the alcove. Claire gave him a nod and brushed past him to go back to the living room.

Then Dean looked at Sam, eyes narrowed and heavy, “You’ve got some serious FOMO, you know that?”

“What? Dean!” Sam spluttered, face heating up at the double dose of disapproval. But Dean wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. He was looking past Sam at Jimmy, still waiting outside where Claire had left him. Sam glanced between the two.

Okay, it wasn’t necessarily, er, ocular love-making, but the two seemed to have some silent conversation nonetheless. Feeling like the ball in a pinball machine, awkward and noisy, he mumbled an excuse no one cared about and hurried back into the living room.

Of course, this time Eileen gave him a raised eyebrow of disapproval. Clearing his throat, he called, “Gabe, you up for the op?”

“Aye-aye,” Gabriel saluted, jumping to his feet. “Got me some non-drowsy morphine pops and a scooch of localized anesthesia. You could poke me and I wouldn’t feel it. Go ahead, poke me,” the Archangel finished eagerly.

Sam _did_ _not_ want to poke Gabriel’s bullet wound. “Er, no thank you.” The Archangel pouted.

“Are you sure you’re up for cloaking six souls, Gabriel?” Jo actually sounded worried.

“What?” Sam frowned.

“Balthazar and I could lend a hand,” she continued, ignoring him.

“Nah sis. I got this. It’d be easier to explain my grace around the Winchesters than yours or Balthazar’s,” Gabriel turned to Sam. “I’m far more potent, after all, than your average angel.”

Completely discombobulated, Sam peered at him. Balthazar, of all people, came to his rescue, “Gabriel’s grace will shroud the rest of the team from detection. Like he did with Samandriel.”

“That’s three, you guys,” Sam pointed out.

“Yes, well, your lovely wife insisted that you and your daughter be masked too,” Balthazar explained. That was still five. But Balthazar continued, “And Castiel’s other vessel should be cloaked as well. Given that Mr. Novak still holds traces of ol’ Cassie’s grace.”

“Oh,” Sam muttered softly.

“So, while the angry blondes are pow-wowing, who’s going first?” Gabriel clapped his hands together.

Immediately, Sam volunteered, “Me.”

Eileen sighed to the side, Deanna completely ignored it. Gabriel shrugged, beckoning him forward. Leveling a wary look at the Archangel’s worryingly innocent smile, Sam stepped closer.

“Hm . . . maybe the muggles should shut their eyes,” Gabriel said. He turned to the other angels, “Will I burn their eyes otherwise?”

“Yes,” they replied, bored.

“Okie-doke. Whoever wants eyes, shut ‘em,” Gabe chirped. Sam snapped his eyes shut.

There was a glow of light that died down quickly enough. Sam blinked open to a seven-foot tall velvet curtain suspended midair, separating him from the other humans.

“Behold!” he heard Gabriel announce from right in front of him. The curtain parted to the left, of its own volition. “The sparkly moose of doom!”

Dean and Claire stood at the entry of the living room as well. Dean squinted at him, “Sammy, why are you sparkling?”

“I’m not,” Sam instantly protested. Then he looked down at his hands. He was sparkling. Robert Pattison in sunlight-style. “Because Gabriel is an ass,” Sam amended, scowling ferociously at the being in question.

“You love it,” Gabriel blew him a kiss.

“Hey, hands off,” Eileen interjected. “He’s _my_ sparkly moose.”

Sam glared at her as an evil grin spread across her face. He was pretty sure he’d last seen that expression on Lucifer’s face. Dean snapped his fingers.

“Hold up,” he said. “Gabe. We can’t be sparkling while we go sneaking around to find Cas.”

Thank you.

“Awh,” Gabe pouted. “You never let me do anything fun.”

“Gabriel!” Sam snapped.

“Fine, I won’t make the others sparkle. Can I keep the sparkly moose at least?”

“No!” Sam and Dean snapped simultaneously. Then Dean added, “Jimmy’s not going anywhere. You can have a sparkly Cas, if you want.”

“Hey!” Jimmy yelped, decidedly not in agreement.

“Fine,” Gabriel sighed in annoyance. A snap of fingers and Sam was no longer in Twilight: Breaking the New Heart or whatever that movie was. Jimmy was also remarkably glitter-free. “Who’s next?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I'm definitely late and I have no excuse. Good news though - I staved off what was definitely a bout of writer's block approaching me head on. The next chapter is already drafted. So technically, only one more to write before I give you a non-SPN-finale epilogue. So, a decent one.
> 
> Canon-typical violence and grossness in this chapter. Less Kahn worms and Eve and more . . . crispy frying, if you catch my drift. That's in the Dean section.
> 
> Happy Fuck-Off 2020!

“Here,” Sam tossed a chilled beer at Jimmy. The man jolted where he sat tucked in the corner of the room and far away from everyone else, curled up and broody. He hissed out a ‘sorry’ as bottle sailed passed him and splattered on the ground. He snapped his fingers and Sam blinked, stepping back.

Jimmy took a long sip from the now intact bottle. Then he noticed Sam’s surprised look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sam backed a step. “Most people just blink stuff up.”

“Oh,” Jimmy frowned, looking down at his hand with a scowl that made him look like Castiel the Suburban Dad at Potluck.

“It’s not a big deal. Whatever,” he waved away his errant thoughts and turned back to where Kaia was sitting cross-legged on the coffee table. He sprinkled in some more sage into the bowl before her. The golden light flared gently before simmering back down to a subtle glow.

He glanced between the bowl and Kaia for a few minutes. Then Jimmy muttered, “I think I picked it up from the angels.”

Sam’s head jerked back towards the man. Jimmy looked up at him, “When I was alive. I remember them torturing Cas and me, and then ripping him out of me to torture him some more.”

“Oh,” he faltered. He didn’t know Jimmy had been tortured by the angels too. Shit, they’d really messed up the dude’s . . . everything. “Sorry to hear that.”

Jimmy shrugged, resolutely staring at Kaia beyond him.

“I know that doesn’t make up forꟷ”

“Look, Sam. In case that wasn’t a clear signal; I don’t want to talk about it.”

His mouth snapped shut. He sighed, turning and catching Charlie’s eye. She mouthed something at him. He winced internally. They _did_ owe the guy a lot. Cas (and Dean too, considering he, er, reaped some benefits) more so than him, but he’d been a jerk to Jimmy back during his Pattinson phase.

Breathing exercises were not going to help with this pseudo-armchair psychology.

“Jimmy,” he started, steeling his nerves. The man in question looked up at him, eyes just shy of glazed. “I just wanted to say . . .” he swallowed, “that.” He paused. Jimmy narrowed his eyes up at him, pursing his lips in yet another remarkable pissy-angel impression.

“I mean, back when we were alive,” he started again. Jimmy cocked his head in mock encouragement. “And we were like . . . Dean and I, weꟷ”

“No, we were never that codependent,” Jimmy intoned morosely.

“I meant to say that Dean and I, collectively, really feel bad. About what happened. Uh, because of us,” Sam winced visibly. “Though we didn’t technically know about you whenꟷ”

Jimmy, who’d been looking at him with growing incredulity stopped his floundering. “Jesus, this is painful,” Jimmy snorted. “Veto.”

“Veto?” Sam repeated.

“On your apology. I veto.”

Sam hopped from foot to foot in discomfort. “I don’t think it works that way.”

Oh hey, he didn’t know Cas could bitchface.

“Look man, bygones. It’s been a while,” Jimmy said, enunciating carefully and slowly.

Sam paused, peering at the man’s forced nonchalance. “That, and we’re not the ones you want groveling at your feet.”

“I don’t want Castiel to _grovel at my feet_ ,” Jimmy insisted. “I’d actually prefer it if he came nowhere near my feet. Or my family.”

Sam choked back a bubble of hysteria, “In that order?”

Jimmy scowled at him, launching to his feet, “You need to practice apologizing. Until then, I get unlimited vetoes on any interaction with the terrible threesome.” He started to brush past Sam, stalking to the patio doors. Sam turned and called after him, abandoning his efforts to keep his voice down, “You’re still here, Jimmy.”

The only response he got for that profound one-liner was a dirty look from Kaia and Jimmy flipping him off, banging the screen door behind himself.

Sighing in semi-defeat, Sam turned back to the table. Kaia had closed her eyes again and Charlie was messing around on her phone. Charlie was very, very casually looking at her phone, but Sam wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. He didn’t actually want the disappointed mom look. Deanna was tucked up against the corner of the couch, listlessly studying the dream-walker.

Before he could decide where to awkwardly insinuate himself, the sound of wingbeats signaled the draft of wind from behind himself. He turned to see two mostly unharmed angels.

Neither of them had killed one another. So that was good.

“So . . .” Charlie drawled carefully as Jo glared down at a tear in her fancy pink overcoat.

“So,” Balthazar shrugged, “We definitely have some angels playing hooky.”

“Naomi’s moles?” Charlie frowned, stealing the words from Sam’s mouth.

“Not quite,” the angel shrugged, snapping a bottle of whiskey that probably cost as much as the Kohinoor into existence. “Given the,” he paused to take a gulp that triggered involuntary bitchfacing. “Ah! That truly hits the spot. Would you care for some, dear?”

He jolted in realization when Balthazar offered a glass to Deanna. “Nope,” he plucked the glass right out of Deanna’s hand and downed it. Regretted it immediately, but he’d argue that the spluttering and coughing was caused by the wrong pipe.

Jo sighed heavily. “How did you survive adolescence?”

“Focus,” Sam gasped out, rubbing viciously at the tears of pain lining his waterline. He carefully kept his body turned away from direct line of sight of his daughter’s smug expression.

“Right you are, uncouth Dumbledore,” Balthazar quipped. “Well, the angels missing might be moles, yes. But not Naomi’s.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the nonchalant angel.

“We think they might be on Castiel’s payroll,” Jo cut in. She shrugged at the irritated look Balthazar levelled at her for stealing his thunder. “Next time, don’t pause so long.”

“I understand how the finer nuances of art may be lost on a label-whoꟷ”

“Hey,” Charlie snapped her fingers.

“Sorry darling. Art may be lost on a label-sycophant such as you, butꟷ”

“That’s _not_ what she meant!” Sam exclaimed, stopping just shy of stamping his foot.

“Oh no, I totally did,” Charlie chirped. She paused at the nonplussed expression on Sam’s face, and amended, “But, yeah. Shock, awe, surprise. Our gaybie is secretly a mafia boss.”

“Eh, he’s too dumb for that,” Jo shrugged. “Let’s call it what it is: overprotective dad syndrome.” She looked at Deanna, “ _You_ know what I’m talking about.”

He ignored Deanna’s vigorous nodding and turned to Balthazar, “Okay. We already know he got spies littered around Heaven.”

“You do?”

He barreled right past the outraged angelic stereo. “Did they report anything to you guys? Have they seen or felt Jack?”

Balthazar scowled at him, setting his jaw stubbornly. He’d been a parent for a few decades, so he picked his battles and turned to Jo, who looked more intrigued than angered at the revelation. That seemed . . . worrying. She obliged him, nonetheless, “What part of ‘playing hooky’ did you not get?”

Sam stared at her in incomprehension. Kaia, who was apparently done with whatever she’d been trying, chimed in, “They’re missing, aren’t they?”

Balthazar gave her a curious look and then slowly, deliberately, reached up to tap his nose.

Great. More missing wavelengths of celestial intent.

“Okay, new rule,” Sam said after a long pause. “No angels go anywhere without at least one human.”

Jo tilted her head in consideration, but Balthazar crossed his arms and cocked what he probably thought was an intimidating eyebrow at him. Sam stared right back.

“Oookay, alpha male posturing over. You’re both clear betas anyway,” Deanna interrupted. “Kaia’s got something.”

Sam tore his eyes away from Balthazar and looked at Kaia.

He wasn’t . . . a beta. Probably. Mostly. Maybe. (He was most definitely a beta because he literally rolled over like pill-bug in the faces of his wife and daughter. In his day, they actually took pity on a poor guy and called him whipped.)

Kaia seemed to fidget under the sudden scrutiny of the whole room. She cleared her throat, picking at her shirtsleeves. “Well, okay. So . . . I couldn’t necessarily track Jack or any divine graceꟷ”

“Great,” Balthazar flung up his arms.

“Shut up, Pepe Le Pew,” Deanna snapped back.

Kaia shot her a small, shy smile. “As I was saying; I couldn’t track anything Heaven-related. But I did find something .” She paused, turning to look at Sam. “There’s a living soul. In Heaven. Right now.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. Son of a bitch.

*****

[Feel anything yet?] Dean signed impatiently.

[Shut up.] Eileen glared at him. She clutched the hex-bag tighter, eyes screwing up tight. Dean looked around at the rest of the team and saw the look of disapproval Gabriel was levelling at him. He looked away, both ashamed and unrepentant. _I just need to find Cas._

He refused to acknowledge the Archangel again, opting to look at Claire. She had a lock of blue hair twisted around a finger tightly. She was probably on the verge of ripping the chunk off. Dean reached out and tapped her shoulder. She cast a final glance across the hallway to the weird office spaces angels had wanted. Then she turned to him and met his gaze.

He quirked an eyebrow at her in question.

She clumsily raised her palm to her chest. [Fine _._ ]

_The hallway? Or you? ‘coz that’s a load of bull._

Girl was shut up tighter than a clamshell, but he didn’t need pliers to figure out she had a soft spot for Cas. Their whole motley crew did, but he knew it was different with Claire. He’d been the one who’d found her moping after she’d met Jack for the first time. After Cas had introduced him as his son.

Daddy issues were his jam.

Claire held his gaze for a few moments before looking away. Dean gave up. To distract himself from obsessing over Cas and what shit he was caught up in, Dean let his eyes roam around the office space. Cas’s office, which he never used.

_‘I have no need for an abode. My home is with you_.’

That’s what he’d told Dean. A lump rose in his throat and he looked up at the ceiling. It was plain, bland. Cas probably hated the shit out of it. He swallowed, looking across the room at the plush rolling chair. It was a discordant, bright yellow. Cas had definitely put that in here himself. In front of the chair was a wooden desk that looked like their old tables in the Bunker. The same desk lamp, with the same crappy, rusty chain switch. The floor was bare linoleum, grey and cold. His eyes were drawn back to the chair.

He looked at Eileen. No luck.

He slowly inched to the study. If the others saw him, they didn’t try to stop him. He reached the chair and then pulled himself onto it. He imagined Cas sitting like this, working on something half-heartedly. He realized Cas had installed a drawer on one side of the table, unlike the ones in the bunker. Curious, he reached out and pulled it open.

There wasn’t much in there . . . a couple fancy pens, a cracked old stopwatch, sticky notes with messy Enochian scrawled on them . . . _dork, you’re supposed to stick those. It’s right there in the name._

He pulled at the rubbery material shoved at the end. He huffed out a soft laugh. _I’ll be damned._

It was the whoopie cushion he’d used to prank Cas. Nearly a decade ago on Earth. Grinning fondly, he placed it back inside. Then he turned to the small, carved wooden box he’d been avoiding. If it was in a box . . . maybe it was private?

The choice was taken out of his hands when a slender hand reached beyond him and lifted the box. He turned and realized Claire had joined him. She flipped open the lid and frowned. Dean straightened up to peek inside. He frowned too.

It was . . . junk. No other word for it. Stones. A couple of shells. What looked like a piece of astonishingly symmetric sea glass. A small, grey feather. It couldn’t have been taller than his pinkie. There was a broken, frayed watch belt, with no watch-face. Another feather, just as tiny, this one grey-green. There was something else . . . a damaged cross with a broken chain. Claire plucked it and peered at it, then flipped it to look at the base. There was a barely legible ‘J’ scratched into the peeling silver enamel. She gasped softly, so Dean looked at her for an explanation. She crouched next to him, leaning an arm on the padded armrest.

She ran a finger over the ‘J’ and whispered, “This was Dad’s.”

_Oh_.

Dean glanced back the box, and then he reached out to gently take it from her.

_They’re mementos_.

He felt a light tap on his shoulder. He ripped his eyes away to see Gabe looking at him carefully, [Caught a line.]

Fucking finally. Nodding, he passed the box back to Claire and got up, pulling his angel blade from his belt. He pointedly kept his back to Claire as she closed the drawer. In case she wanted to keep the cross.

Dean crept over to the door where Eileen was crouched.

[I kept thinking it was a decoy, but I think there’s really something stashed in her office. Whatever it is, it’s powerful.] Eileen explained. Dean nodded.

“Should we split up, just in case?” Claire whispered slowly.

Dean didn’t want to.

Even Gabriel agreed. He signed hastily, [No. Can’t cloak you all if we split. I’m still not fully recovered.]

Dean relaxed.

[Let’s go in groups anyway. Five feet apart.] Eileen suggested.

They split, Eileen and Gabe following Claire and Dean. They ducked into empty offices on opposing sides of the corridor so they could keep visual.

Claire led him and he kept an eye behind them, sticking close. The fogged glass door leading into Naomi’s office was dark. Dean wondered if she was inside, lying in wait for them.

_Probably_.

As they crept into the empty office right across Naomi’s, Dean reached out and grabbed Claire’s arm. He opened his mouth to ask to go first, but she fixed him with a glare so vicious he reconsidered. She pulled her arm away and, quick as lightning, darted to the door, pulling it open.

Nothing.

Dean followed, overtaking her and entering the room.

It was dark and empty. Colder than most rooms, because _foreshadowing_. The room looked like a damn dentist’s office, a chair exactly like that at one end, white walls, white pristine leather chair, ivory silver table. The walls were tiled with grey, beveled squares. Dean moved to the desk, cautiously.

_No drawers, dammit_.

Claire was near the chair, fingers ghosting along its edges. She looked up with a frustrated shake of her head just as Team B entered.

And shit hit the fan. Gabriel gasped, stumbling sideways, right into Eileen, who struggled to catch a ton of Archangel. She tried to pull them out of the office, but the door swung shut behind her. Sigils glowed, bordering the door. Dean recognized at least half as demonic.

He hefted his blade, catching Eileen’s eye. She shoved Gabriel against a wall, and he sighed even as the wall behind him fractured in a web.

[Broke the wards. Smart girl.] he signed with a wry smile. Dean relaxed, but Claire shot past them to the cracks behind Gabe. Dean frowned and followed.

She crouched, pulling Gabe away insistently. He went away, and she ran a finger along a crack before revealing it to the rest of them.

“Is that ash?” Dean whispered.

“Or sawdust,” she whispered back. “Point is, it isn’t cement or fairy dust or whatever.” She shoved the tip of her own angel blade into the crack, chiseling the wall. Dean moved beside her to help, and Eileen wasn’t far behind. Gabe hung back as sentry.

His arm ached and his shoulder hurt from the angle. He was hella old. He also made a note to slap Jack upside the head when he saw him. Why the fuck couldn’t they blink shit outside their personal Heaven-neighborhoods or whatever?

He almost sobbed in relief when a big enough chunk fell out. He caught it and placed it on the ground gingerly. The back was black and blank. Claire worked her fingers into the hole and pulled. The cracked areas, in the shape of one smurf-sized Archangel, dislodged pretty easily. And noisily. Dean would have worried about the noise had he not seen what fell out.

Eileen gagged.

It looked like two charred bodies. Completely brittle and fucked to hell. Dean’s mind flashed to where he’d last seen something like that.

_Stop. Not now._

He physically pushed away from the memories, reaching forward to pull away one of the corpses. He turned it onto its back. There was a precise cut along its throat, gaping wide to reveal white bones and black, empty insides.

_Angels?_

This was what Charlie was talking about.

It wasn’t Cas.

How had Jack and the others missed two mutilated dead bodies stashed in Naomi’s walls. _So, she’s gone full-on Raymond. Great._

And she has Cas. Unable to stow away his panic, he spun to face Gabriel, who’d gasped with them but hadn’t come forward. Dean realized why. He had his arms braced on the opposite wall.

_More bodies stashed in the walls?_

He felt bile rise in his throat. Cas was an Archangel now. She couldn’t hurt him that easy.

She _couldn’t_.

“Gabriel?” Dean called softly.

Without turning to face him, Gabriel muttered, “There’s something here. It’s . . . weird.”

“Like grace?” Dean glanced back down at the body at his feet. The ladies were rolling one of them into Naomi’s plush carpet.

“Eh . . . sorta,” Gabe hummed. “Why?”

“Uh, there’s a couple ‘a bodies here in the walls. Think it’s angels. She took their grace,” Dean approached the Archangel.

Gabe faltered briefly, then screwed his eyes shut, pushing his palms more firmly into the wall.

“It’s,” Dean licked his lips. “It’s not him.”

He would know. If he saw.

He swallowed, feeling the cold spread across his hands. His fingertips felt icy. The wall splintered, then collapsed in a shower of dust.

No ash.

Instead, there was what looked like a quarter of a metal doorway. Curved inwards. He started chipping at the wall with the blade, while Gabriel pried off panels. The rest was solid wall.

“Fuck,” Gabriel hissed. “Gotta go in.”

Dean braced himself, then turned to the women, “Stay here.”

Eileen opened her mouth to protest, but when Claire nodded, she let it go. They’d already wrapped the two bodies in the carpet, so they stood in defense at their backs.

“Scream like a bitch if you need a hand,” Claire commanded. Dean huffed a distracted laugh, watching Gabriel disappear through the gap in the wall. Dean followed, briefly shutting his eyes as he shimmied in.

_Should’ve sent one of the girls_. _Too fuckin’ fat for this shit._

He opened his eyes as he felt himself slip through. It was dark, save for a faint glow the wall they’d emerged from. Dean turned on his heel, backing away from the giant, oblong metal ring. There was a faint glowy mist suspended inside the ring, looking eerily similar to the barrier. Except the glowy part.

And tucked against the wall beyond the thick metal ringꟷ

“Cas!” Dean gasped. He darted to the slumped form of his angel. Archangel. Celestial radio wave, whatever. He looked pale and clammy, eyes at half-mast. Hair clung to his forehead lifelessly and his breaths were raspy and shallow.

Dean reached out a hand, heart thudding painfully in his ribcage, and touched his cheek. Cas’s eyes fluttered a bit, then went back to their original position.

“Shit, is he okay?” Gabe called out. Dean gently palpated Cas’s arms, legs, torso. He cupped the back of his skull.

Nothing.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Dean whispered, feeling the inane urge to break down. He’d found his angel, and he still couldn’t fix shit. He cupped his face again and stroked Cas’s sharp cheekbones, “Cas?”

The eyelashes fluttered again. Dean was terrified to move him.

_Can’t lose him. Not again._

He’d go back to the Empty, and Jack was missing and Dean was just a man. A dead one. He couldn’t do shit.

“Cas, please,” he felt his voice crack. “Wake up.”

Gabriel was moving around the dimly lit room. It was too big to be in the walls.

“Pocket dimension,” Gabriel explained. “That’s why it felt weird. That and whatever this sci-fi doorway is.”

Dean didn’t care. He reached out and grabbed Cas’s shoulders. He didn’t give himself time to think, gently lifting Cas off the wall. When he was more or less sitting up, no longer against the wall, his eyes snapped open. Dean huffed in surprise, then wrapped an arm across his shoulders, bracing him in position.

“Cas, hey,” Dean called urgently.

“Dean?” Cas muttered, voice soft and low. Dean almost started sobbing for the nineth time that day.

“Yeah, it’s me. And your annoying older brother,” Dean smiled a watery grin.

Cas looked away from him, eyes visibly glazed even in the dim light, “Gavriel? _ESIASCH?”_

Dean stilled as Gabriel approached then slowly. “Cassiel. _ULS G PAPNOR_?”

_Need to learn more Enochian._

“Cas,” Cas whispered. “I’m Cas.”

Dean breathed in sharply, a strange feeling rising in him. He smiled half-heartedly at his angel and whispered, “Damn right.”

Cas looked back at him and his lips quirked. Then he went all unfocused and slumped ahead, not so much hugging Dean as leaning on him. He cheek pressed against the shoulder of Dean’s flannel and he let out a tired sigh.

“Are you hurt? Can you walk?” Dean asked him, letting himself relish the smell of vanilla and sweat.

“I don’t know . . . wards. Paralyzed me.”

“On it,” Gabe disappeared into the dark.

“Not hurt?” Dean repeated. Cas shuddered against him, so Dean wrapped both arms around him.

“It’s nothing that can be fixed.”

“What?”

“Naomi broke my wing. An older one,” his shaking intensified. “It’ll heal in time.”

_Fuckity fuck_.

“I’m gonna bludgeon that douche to death,” Dean promised.

Cas seemed to calm a bit, and he let out a tired chuckle, “My hero.”

“Stop bein’ the femme fatale,” he countered, raising a hand to card through Cas’s hair.

He pulled away and gently placed his lips to Dean’s. Dean’s throat let out a soft sob, and he closed his eyes. He let his tongue run over the soft, chapped texture of Cas’s bottom lip and felt more than heard the sigh it drew. He could feel the angel’s strength seeping back into him, and he gently pulled Cas’s lip between both of his own and nipped at it. That made Cas grin, and then he pulled away.

“I made a mental notation; I told you so,” Cas pouted half-heartedly, his tiny grin negating the heat of his words.

“Mental notation? What the fuck? Call it a mental note, dork,” Dean hissed affectionately.

“That is exactly what a notation _is_ , Dean!”

“How we doin’?” Gabriel interrupted Dean’s retort.

“Much better, thank you,” Cas responded, voice already stronger.

They sat there in silence, wrapped up together until Cas slumped against him, muscles uncoiling. By the time Gabriel came back, Cas had raised his arms to wrap them around Dean and squeeze. They untangled and climbed to their feet together.

“Is Jack with you?” Cas asked. Dean winced.

“He’s incommunicado,” Gabriel reported.

Cas rubbed a hand over his face, “Great. Well, we need to find him. _Right now_.”

“One step ahead of ya’,” Dean promised, praying Cas would let it go. “Avengers went after him while Justice League came for you.”

Cas squinted at him.

“Sam and Balthazar are looking for him.”

“Ah. That’s good. However, I’m still not leaving without him.”

Dean groaned.

“Dean,” Cas started.

“Fuck, okay. Whatever. You owe me five back rubs after this,” Dean snapped. He turned to the crack in the wall, tugging Cas along.

Cas promised, “And four blowjobs.”

“All the blowjobs,” Dean countered as Gabe groaned pitifully.

As they shimmied through, he heard the older angel muse, “What the fuck is that giant metal ring anyway?”

“I think it qualifies more as an oblong,” Cas said thoughtfully. “And it’s a siphon. For grace.”

“What the fuck,” Dean and Gabe chorused.

When they made it past the crack, they realized why everything had been mostly silent on the other side. The women were fighting off what looked like six angels.

And Hannah.

*****

“Oh my God, _please_ stop bickering! You guys are worse than Dean and Cas,” Sam moaned.

“Ugh, gross implication,” Jo spat. “I’ll have you know, I’m better dressed that both of them combined.”

“And that’s important, of course. Highly relevant to our mission,” Balthazar rolled his eyes.

Sam sighed. He shot back a thanks to Eileen and put his phone away. Jack wasn’t in Naomi’s office. Smart. And expected.

“I still think we should split up,” Deanna hissed. “We have literally no idea where, in any dimension, Jack could be!”

“Deanna’s right,” Kaia added. The former shot her a mild surprised look. Sam was glad stuff was working out on that end, but they had a job to do.

“For the last time, Deanna. No. We’ve got Crowley doing recon down on Earth. And until he confirms something, we assume Jack’s in Heaven,” Sam scolded. Which, yeah, definitely contributed to his foul mood. He was _not on board_ with Crowley helping them. Sure, the demon had sacrificed himself to trap actual Satan in an alternate universe, but he wouldn’t trust Crowley to report the weather truthfully. Much less the whereabouts of actual God.

What was his afterlife?

“Look, you can’t pull rank here!” she protested, breaking him out of his rightful musing. It wasn’t whining. He was old as fuck, alright? At this point, whining is called musing.

“Sam’s right, Deanna, Kaia,” Jo chimed in. “Look, I’d rather not get dead because we all decided to split up. Strength in numbers.”

“Besides, Naomi is quite incompetent. If she had the gall to attack God, it’s entirely possible she has him stashed in one of her favorite hidey holes in Heaven,” Balthazar drawled.

Sam had the strange urge to be grateful to the angel. Jo, not Balthazar. Never Balthazar.

Deanna set her jaw stubbornly as let out a deep breath. She looked away, arms crossed. Then she met Sam’s gaze again, “Fine. The office space cuts out a lot of places. But there’s still literally the _universe_ to search.”

As if in a poorly-written suspense story, Sam’s phone vibrated on cue. He glanced at it. And hissed, “Okay, Crowley says Jack’s not on Earth.”

“Cool, so he’s in Heaven or like, a pocket dimension, or the future or the pastꟷ”

“Hold on, Sparky,” Kaia chuckled, placing a hand on Deanna’s arm. “If Jack’s in Heaven, at the least he’s probably noticed a real, live soul in the afterlife. We just need to get to the soul and see if they know anything.”

Deanna made a face like she did before bath time as a toddler.

“And no splitting up, I promise,” Kaia directed at Sam. Sam nodded gratefully, letting her take point. “Any updates from Charlie and Jimmy?”

“Nope,” Deanna chirped, thinly veiled frustration lacing her expression. “So we have no choice but to head for the barrier. It’s where the interdimensional portal of doom is, isn’t it?”

Something wasn’t sitting right.

“Wait a second,” Sam stopped in his tracks. The rest of the crew, who’d started onwards, paused and stared at him in question. He made a face, “Remember when Metatron locked angels out of Heaven?”

Balthazar barked out a “ _What_?” while Jo fixed him with an unimpressed look. Sam winced in apology.

“Right. You probably do. Uh, wasn’t there a portal to Heaven that he left open? The one Cas was going to push Kelly through?”

The others looked confused, but Jo seemed to be catching on. Her expression turned, “You _know_ why Castiel wanted to take Kelly through it right? Because if you’re suggesting that the living human snuck in through _that_ portalꟷ”

“No, that’s exactly what I’m saying!” Sam interrupted, feeling his blood start to vibrate under his skin. He knew this was a decent lead. It had to be. “Kaia didn’t say the soul was a human one!”

Jo’s eyes widened.

“Huh,” Balthazar mused.

Jo started nodding, slowly, then gaining momentum. “Holy shit. Did you just say something intelligent? I hope you’re proud of yourself. I know how rare this is for you.”

“Do you want a little picture to keep as a memento for this moment?” the other angel jumped in.

Sam was about to roll his eyes with feeling, but Deanna broke in, “Hey! Wanna share with the slower kids?”

Sam turned to her, smiling apologetically. She didn’t actually seem mad, which was a rare treat too. One actually worth getting a memento for. “Right. Well, there was a portalꟷ”

“No, I got that,” she waved a hand. “So what?”

“So . . . there’s a chance that the rogue living soul actually managed to get through the portal. Because they weren’t human. And I’ll bet my finest collection that Jack noticed any breach of that sort,” Balthazar added helpfully. Sam watched the angel carefully. He evidently had a soft spot for his kid. He just wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing yet.

“Where’s the portal?” Kaia demanded urgently, just as Deanna asked, “What collection?”

There was a moment of eerie, Destiel-level eye-contact.

Then the kids turned back and Deanna nodded in contrition, “What she said.”

“The Garden,” Balthazar responded, making no effort to suppress his own amused smirk. “You humans are in for a treat.”

He reached out and grabbed Sam’s arm and then added, “Potentially certain death as well, but the view shall certainly be worth it.”

*****

He couldn’t believe he was saying this . . but Balthazar had been right. He wasn’t going to tell _him_ that, but by Jack, was he _so_ right.

The Garden was . . . indescribable. His jaw was still hanging open, but he didn’t want to shut it. He could be excused because this place? Looked like it had come straight out of a Monet painting. The trees were green and flowering and absolutely healthy. Not one browning leaf. The grass under their feet was dewy and soft but not mulchy. Somehow just perfect and crisp and cool. He’d checked. He’d totally ran his hand across it for a good minute. There was an inviting stream trickling over perfectly rounded pebbles, arching through the whole, well, garden and disappearing into the distance. The sky was absolutely clear. Not a cloud in sight. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear the symphony of hundreds of birds chirping in harmony. In the middle, stood a long, huge oak whose trunk gleamed golden. It wasn’t even a trick of light. It seriously had a varnish of gold on it.

“Is this seriously the right time to have an erection?” Jo snarked from behind him. He turned, ready to yell (or serenely admonish) the angels when he realized she was looking at him. Beside her, Balthazar laughed and opened his mouth, but Deanna had the foresight to head that off at the pass.

“You guys have been holding out on us,” she muttered, completely enamored by the place as well.

The Garden was so . . . simple. Yet extraordinary. It was perfectly immaculate.

“Yeah well, humans have a pretty shitty track record with gardens in paradise,” Balthazar shrugged.

Touché.

“Dude, that tree’s _golden_ ,” Kaia breathed, eyes fixed on the huge oak just beyond Sam. Which is why neither she, nor Deanna, saw the angels immediately look horrified.

“What?” Sam demanded, spinning around. He couldn’t see anything. The angels stayed silent, which was unsettling in and of itself. He repeated, louder, “ _What_?”

“Oh dear,” Balthazar audibly swallowed.

And then Sam saw it.

“Motherfucker!” Jo hissed.

He had to agree.

*****


	10. Chapter 10

John Winchester was experiencing doubt. Even with their powers so thoroughly muted, Jack realized that. He was still that same trained, hardened war veteran though. As Dean and Sam had told them. Many evenings in the Bunker. Especially when the brothers got drunk.

(And then the Winchesters would start squabbling till one or both of them got too tired to keep themselves off the floor and then Cas would look to the Heavens for fortitude and lug the comatose hunter(s) to bed. But that was beside the point.)

The point was that none of that doubt showed on his face, save for the slight tick in his jaw.

Which could have been anger, but Jack was learning to trust their instincts when it came to human emotion. They were still a nephal; they just had to learn to tug on that string connecting them to humanity more often.

He also wasn’t much interested in conversing. Jack had tried to determine who the ‘silent partner’ was, but none of their four attempts had helped them gain any headway.

They tried something else, “John?”

The man in question swore under his breath. “What now?”

“Do you know what happened to Harper?”

They watched the man carefully, receiving the same treatment in return.

“You don’t? Thought you were all-knowing,” John grunted, turning towards them.

Jack smiled obligingly, schooling their expression to the picture of innocence, as Sam had taught them. “That was Chuck,” they muttered, eyes wide. “I know a lot, yes. But not everything.”

They paused, watching the old man with feigned inquisitiveness. John studied them for a few moments, seemingly debating with himself. He reached a conclusion soon enough.

“That thing . . . the Empty,” he said carefully. “It’s not a person so much as it’s a place. It’s nothingness. That’s where it took your gal.”

Jack smiled softly. John was the grunt in the dynamic. Clearly, he didn’t know much. Jack could sense he wasn’t lying . . . which meant they could use the lack of knowledge to try and pry information from him.

“Your ‘silent’ partner lied to you.”

John’s eyes flashed immediately. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“The Empty _used_ to be nothingness,” they barreled ahead, talking over John. “Now? It’s hell. Only worse because . . . Hell, real Hell, it’s populated by the souls of damned humans. Humans are, for all their intelligence, not nearly as crafty as eternal beings.” John’s expression fractured in realization. “The Empty? It’s the afterlife where demons and angels go after death. The Empty was . . . disturbed. Recently. It decided to hold a grudge. Now? Now it’s not the eternal sleep angels and demons are promised, but unending pain. In every capacity.”

“Wait,” John frowned, clearly intrigued. “You’re tellin’ me that the only people who go to this place are angels and demons? After they die?”

Jack nodded, maintaining eye contact.

“So that girl . . . Harper. She’s . . .”

“Dead,” Jack swallowed. And probably being tortured for crimes she hadn’t committed.

John paused, turning away abruptly. It wasn’t fast enough, though. Jack had seen the flash of conflict in his eyes.

This was the moment. John Winchester would live up to his image and choose the rightꟷ

“You think I’m dumb shit?” was spat at them venomously instead. “Think you can wave your magic wand and dupe me like you and your angels have my family?”

Jack reeled backwards, pressing against the tree trunk. The surge of force pulling at their grace heightened and they pulled away from the trunk, trying to keep as little of their skin in contact as they could. They couldn’t let the tree siphon away too much of their grace. Or they’d be useless in the inevitable fight.

Then their attention was drawn back towards John, who’d started approaching them, a look of absolute rage on his face. And an angel blade in his hand. “You fuckers and your meddling took my wife from me. Ruined my sons’ lives. And now? Now you’ve done it. You _stole_ them from me . . . brainwashing them into running around and patching up _your_ messes.”

Jack couldn’t suppress the wry chuckle that escaped during John Winchester’s self-righteous rant. That gave the man pause. Also made him livider, as per expectations. “You think it was the angels who ruined Sam and Dean’s lives? Who drove them away from you for a family that actually loved and supported them?”

John bared his teeth, “Shut the fuck up, half-whelp.”

Jack had to suppress their rising anger, lest they lose control of their grace and let it flare far enough to get completely ripped from their being. They instead focused on trying to breach the tree with their bound fingers . . . to pry their fingers deep enough to destroy the powerful empyrean failsafe.

Which was . . . which seemed like a good idea at the time. They hadn’t expected it to backfire so spectacularly. Chuck had influenced their approach to Godhood far more than they were willing to admit . . . that much was true. The first thing they’d done, quickly and stealthily while the angels had been healing or reeling in the aftermath of Chuck’s fate, was to establish the failsafe. In case Jack ever turned evil.

Which they didn’t want to but . . . life was unpredictable. Especially an eternal one.

“What the fuck,” John muttered, fixating on something in Jack’s blind-spot. He turned back to Jack and hissed, “If you wanna keep your guts on your inside, stay very quiet.”

They opened his mouth to respond but John turned away, dipping his head.

**_Naomi, come on!_ **

Their eyes widened. They hadn’t been hearing any prayers ever since they’d been pulled to the Garden, so the sudden, unfocussed prayer took them by surprise.

Also . . .

**_Goddammit, you feathered whore. There’s too many people here and I’m too exposed. Come on!_ **

That.

The first thing to do as soon as they escaped. Pay Naomi a visit. They pushed away the rising embarrassment and hurt to focus on their situation. They needed a clear head. Historically, for Jack, emotions led to . . . not that.

John spun back around, eyes wide in panic as they fixated on the newcomers. Jack tried to wiggle out their grace to get a feel of who’d found them.

Angels. Definitely some angels.

That was confirmed when John cursed again, striking his own palm with a knife and coming up beside Jack to start on a banishing sigil. They frowned at him in confusion. Did John seriously think . . .

Experimentally, they kicked out with a leg, hitting the hunter on the back of his legs and making him trip.

“Fuck!”

And then they swung their head hard, slamming into John’s skull. Even without their powers, they had a hard head. Something that always made Dean snicker and Cas mad at Dean for snickering.

“Oh, fuckin’,” John’s curse was muffled as it followed the crunch of broken cartilage.

Huh . . . maybe he wasn’t as foresighted as the brothers thought.

“You _must_ have realized that would happen,” Jack said, mildly amused.

In response, the man continued to curse. Jack watched him, feeling significantly more optimistic about their situation.

Then John disappeared with a nauseating explosion of Sulphur.

“Jack!”

With him, disappeared the strange power dampening Jack’s senses and abilities. They gasped at the full strength of restoration and the presence of their saviors. Anael, Balthazar, Sam, Deanna and, they felt a smile curve their mouth, Kaia.

“Jack!” Sam called again.

“Here,” they responded, craning their head back to catch a glimpse.

“Holy fuck,” Anael came into view, flying to them. “How the fuck do we get you out of _that_?”

“And how did you get stuck in there in the first place?” Balthazar followed.

“Um,” they hesitated. It really had seemed like a good idea at the time. “I made a mistake?”

Balthazar gave them a scathing look and Anael snorted, reaching out to probe the point of entry for their left hand.

“Can I just break it?” she asked quietly. The human souls were fast approaching them. Jack bit their lip and nodded.

“It might cause a power surge, though,” they warned. Anael nodded in understanding, turning to the humans to warn them off. She never got the chance.

Balthazar snapped his fingers and there was an outcry from three startled ‘transport-ees’. That wasn’t a real word. Could they make that a real word? They were running the universe, after all. Although, would that be a misuse of power?

The crack of the bark brought them out of their cognitive wandering.

**_That simple, huh?_ **

They blinked in surprise, glancing at Anael’s smirk.

**_Yes. It was a failsafe for me. Not any other celestial being_.**

“Jack!” it was Deanna this time. Jack pulled out their recently freed arm and waved at her, “Hello!”

“Hello,” Kaia greeted him with a fond smile while Deanna exclaimed, “Dude, are you like, embedded in that tree right now?” She laughed amazedly.

“Uh, yes,” they responded sheepishly. Then they shut up.

Sam narrowed his eyes at them. He added, drawing the word out, “Why?”

“Er,” they paused. How mad would Sam be when they told him everything? “The thing is . . .”

_Crack!_

They winced, pulling away from the tree shakily.

“So, the thing is,” they swallowed, looking at Sam’s narrowed eyes. “You guys were right about Naomi. And she’s working with your dad and maybe a demon. Possibly. And . . .” the Empty. The others didn’t need to know that.

“Yeesh,” Deanna muttered.

“Oh no, what at unexpected turn of events,” Balthazar drawled, imitating a ‘bitch-face’ like Sam’s.

They couldn’t do anything about that. An angel, even an Archangel, would be powerless before that being. Human souls? Not even ants.

Besides, Jack refused to lose another innocent bystander to the Empty’s greed. This was their fight. And . . . they had an idea. Next on the list, deal with another cosmic being. They sighed internally. They weren’t making it back to Earth for a while.

“Okay, great,” Sam interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply to calm himself down. “Well, Cas went off to confront her, so we need to get to Naomi’s office. That’s where Eileen said they all were.”

“You’re sexting in the middle of a rescue op for God?” Anael snorted.

“Ew, gross!” Deanna whined. Sam just scowled at the angels while Balthazar snickered in the background. Anael just felt and looked incredibly proud.

Oh hey, they could sense general emotions again.

Also, they would be so far behind in their classes. That made them sigh wistfully.

They took an inventory, trying to figure out whether they could . . . nope.

“I’m sorry, guys. I can’t transport us all yet,” they apologized.

Balthazar rolled his eyes, grabbing Deanna and Kaia while Anael grabbed Sam and Jack, humming ‘Who Run the World’ under her breath. Jack felt their finger dance against their thigh as they all took flight. They’d all made their way through the first chorus when they landed.

Smack dab in the middle of a fight.

*****

Cas was tiring rapidly. Not that he hadn’t been exhausted to begin with. It wasn’t until Gabriel called his name and then tackled him that he realized it.

“Gabriel!” he gasped. His brother roared in response, spitting out some choice curses.

Then Dean called out, “Eyes!” from where he stood shielding Eileen. Cas slammed his eyes shut, praying his brother had done the same. Energy flared, impossible brightness surging beyond his eyelids.

There was a whine, the crackle of static. The light died down. Cas blinked back into awareness.

Eileen stood adjacent to him and Gabriel, whose shirt was still fisted in Cas’s hand. She had a wild grin on her face.

[That actually worked?] Cas quirked an eyebrow at her.

She nodded rapidly, extending a hand to him. Around the room, Naomi and her allies, including one John Winchester who’d appeared in a suspicious burst of demonic magic, were slowly regaining their capacities as they cowered around the room.

“Dean!”

Cas’s head swiveled. Sam, who seemed to be at war with himself about whether to look shocked or irritated. Balthazar and Anael. Jack, to his great relief, looking relatively unharmed. If a little winded. And accompanied the merry band of reinforcements, Deanna and Kꟷ

“What the _fuck_!” Cas turned to Claire, alarmed at the quality of her tone. “Get them outta here!”

Anael immediately took flight, taking Deanna and Kaia with her, cutting off their protests. Cas winced. They could’ve used the extra set of angelic hands. What with, he looked down at Gabriel’s unfocused gaze, both Archangel-and-Arch-adjacent incapacitated and one reluctant angelic ally who hadn’t engaged in battle since the Great Flood.

He roughly shoved his clearly concussed brother through the crack in the wall roughly. He would apologize, but this was Gabriel. He’d retaliate with childish buffoonery sooner or later, regardless. Gabriel was mumbling something lowly, possibly about the Pygmy Shrew.

Cas shuddered as memories from Cassiel bled through, reminding him of Gavriel’s delight as he hid the creation behind his back. Belatedly, he wondered what, if anything, he’d created as an Archangel. Besides Thursdays, apparently. Which he could not recall creating.

Dammit, Naomi.

Speaking of . . .

“Get the Godling!” she screeched. Castiel ran to Jack, wincing when he accidentally tried to use his wings.

“No,” he growled, feeling Jack’s arm come up to grab him from behind. He braced himself, but to his surprise, all he felt was a hint of grace nudging back his lethargy. Beside him, Sam came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, raising his angel blade.

Naomi glared at the two of them, spinning the two blades in her hands in showmanship, attempting to intimate them with parlor tricks.

There was a grunt from John Winchester where Dean and Claire cornered him and landed a punch that seemed to hurt. The vindication gave him a burst of strength.

With a gust of wind, Balthazar appeared beside Hannah, attempting to sneak at her from her blind-spot.

Naomi snapped her fingers and his stomach bottomed out. Sam groaned, recalibrating his attention. The hunter had been slammed into the damaged wall and was now clutching his head. He moaned again, echoing Jack, who was curled up behind Cas.

And glowing, face contorted in pain.

“No!” he gasped, reaching out the grab the Nephal. “Jack? What’s happening?”

He received no response, only pained gasps.

There was a muffled thud as Naomi slammed Sam back into the wall. Cas turned back to Jack. He turned to Sam. Would the damage from a lifetime of head trauma carry on to the afterlife? Or did dying warrant a blank slate?

Either way, neither was moving anytime soon. Cas shoved onto his feet, squeezing Jack’s arm in fleeting apology. Or plea.

Naomi laughed at him. She wasn’t remotely winded. And she was right. In his state, he had no chance of holding his ground in combat with her.

Still, they were trapped in the room. They had to fight. It was the only way out, one way or another.

The others seemed to be faring better, at least. Perhaps.

He attacked, feinting to the left. Naomi ducked to the right, and he swerved, bringing his right fist around to catch her in the face.

His hand bounced off her face with a sickening crack. He groaned. This must have been what Dean felt when he’d punched him that first time . . . many, many years ago.

Naomi merely laughed. Again. Annoyingly. “Intelligence was never your strong suit. I don’t blame you for that . . . your head hasn’t been well, per se, since . . . oh, the beginning of time.”

Cas snarled her, irritation flaring in his gut.

Because she was right. He couldn’t . . .

“ _Boop_!” he saw Balthazar tap Hannah on the nose in his peripheral vision. She slumped sideways and flopped onto the ground.

Naomi winced, turning to them. Which was . . . stupid. Cas didn’t waste a moment to stare at her incredulously, even though he wanted to. He struck.

His blade sunk in through her sternum, piercing flesh and bone in a satisfying movement. She staggered backwards, wrenching the knife out of herself. Shot him a glare with his returned with a smirk.

Naomi had never truly been a warrior. She was a bureaucrat, a pencil-pusher who was relying on verbal narratives of battle and the grace she’d imbibed. 

Balthazar flew into position behind her and impaled her, the bloodied tip shining through against her stark white shirt.

“Argh!” she growled, shoving backwards and sending Balthazar flying across the room, tripping over Hannah’s prone form.

It was an ‘oh, shit’ moment that followed. He couldn’t dodge the third strike she aimed at him, and the pain of a shattered and rapidly mending cheekbone sent him reeling, tears rising in his eyes.

“Cas!” Dean called.

“I’m fine,” he gasped. Eileen was fending off one of the three demons who’d accompanied John Winchester. The other one was bearing down on Claire. Dean was nearly evenly matched with John, given that the former had taught him the elementary stances.

“Oh, no,” Naomi grinned. “You’re really not.”

“He still has back-up, you _duplicitous_ _fiend_ ,” Balthazar slammed his blade through Naomi’s shoulder, materializing behind her. She grunted, staggering to the left, hand fisted in the front of Castiel’s shirt. They went toppling to the side and she twisted him around, pinning him to the floor. His head bounced off the hard, unforgiving surface.

Her hand was thrust outwards when he shook his head clear. Towards the demolished wall. His gut sunk at the thought of Gabriel, but that wasn’t what she was aiming for.

With a thundering groan, the wall separating the alternate dimension and the office room collapsed, dust pooling at the base.

The siphon hummed, growing louder. The power threading through the room setting it into a tizzy.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of metal.

“No!” but he was too late. Claire, having gotten a masterful upper hand on her adversary, sunk her blade into its neck. The demon gurgled as it flashed into nonexistence. The hum from the siphon multiplied. The floor started shaking, glass cracking from the force of the tremors.

A bellow of smoke arose from the corpse, shooting straight to the siphon and dissolving. The humming increased, but the weight on his chest lessened. Naomi was taking flight, escaping.

He wrapped the arm she didn’t have pinned around her throat, fingers digging in hard enough to immediately create deep bruises and then causing rivulets of blood to emerge. She gurgled, eyes widening. Both her arms wrapped around his fingers, trying to pry them away. He aimed what was certainly a maniacal grin at her and dug a finger from his freed arm into the hole in her shoulder. He’d lost his blade in the scuffle, but all he had to do was maneuver her towards the siphon andꟷ

She choked, slapping at his hands, scratching at his wrist. Then, he heard a pained scream emanate from the side. Jack.

Even with her face turning rapidly bluer, her eyes sparked in triumph. There was no question. Jack slid along the floor, shooting towards the siphon. Cas immediately abandoned Naomi and grabbed at the boy’s ankles.

The weight pinning him to the floor disappeared and he tried to stall their slide with his body, feet flailing for purchase on the polished ground.

“Cas!” he felt a body pin his front to the ground again and he groaned. Dean reached out and wrapped his arms around Jack’s legs as well, managing to halt their momentum by breaking the celestial pull. Castiel almost sobbed in relief.

He sagged, making sure to keep his grip on Jack steady. “Dean,” he grunted. “Get Jack out.”

“Gonna get you both out,” Dean hissed back at him. “So shut up and _pull_.”

Cas screamed through clenched teeth and they hauled Jack back. It was as though pulling a paperclip from a powerful magnet. Dean managed to fist his hands into the back of that ill-fitting yellow jacket and Cas nearly passed out again. The pull from the siphon was steadily thrumming, though disrupted by the mere presence of Dean’s body on top of him.

He wanted to curl up into his lover’s body. He wanted to sleep for several years. His broken wig twinged in pain that made him breathless. It refused to halt fluttering along with its companions, however, trying to pull him away.

“Shit!” Dean hissed, and Cas wanted to sob.

“What?” He couldn’t see anything. “What is it?” His face was pressed into the cold, hard floor, smushing his words.

Dean didn’t respond, but his next cry cleared things up. “Claire, what the hell are you doing?”

Cas moaned out something that sounded negatory.

There was a popping sound. The sound of splintering glass. Then, the pull dissipated. The hum fizzled out of existence. The tremoring ground stilled.

Dean shoved off him and landed along him on the ground, in a facsimile of a post-coital routine.

Jack slumped onto the ground, the pained whimpers ceasing.

“How’d you know that would work?” Dean panted.

Cas twisted his head up and backwards, searching for Claire’s crouched form. She shrugged, “I just wanted to punch something.”

He felt a bubble of hysteria rise in his throat and he let it escape, eyes falling shut. Dean patted his chest in consolation.

He allowed himself a reprieve to the count of ten before sitting up to survey the room. Balthazar was staring at Claire, mouth hanging open. Eileen had a hand fisted in his jacket. Dean’s worried gaze was snapping from him to Jack and back again. Sam had made his way across the room and was tending to Gabriel’s slumped, barely conscious form.

The siphon merely looked like a ring of burned, corroded metal amidst rubble.

John Winchester had disappeared, along with the other demonic goon who’d been aiding Naomi. Hannah was slumped against the wall where Sam had been.

Dean struggled to his feet and helped him up. Between them, they got Jack upright. Cas stumbled the moment they tried to move forward, so Claire took his place instead. Eileen took Dean’s place as he stubbornly insisted on supporting Castiel.

They all turned to Sam at the soft moan from that corner. Sam had his arms wrapped around Gabriel and was attempting to pull the Archangel up.

“This,” Gabriel slurred, nestling rightfully into the larger man. “This is my happy place.” He sighed happily. Cas and Balthazar chuckled. There was a snap and the latter disappeared with Hannah.

“Let’s go,” Claire called.

They shuffled forward to the cracked door. Cas and Dean brought up the rear, warring to support the other person. Even though he couldn’t heal, he could sense the bruising to Dean’s ribs, the limp, the bloodied knuckles and the all-encompassing ache shooting up his spine.

The tired crew didn’t converse much. They didn’t have much chance to, with Gabriel listing off his favorite foodstuffs that he was planning to acquire for a celebration feast after they dealt with Naomi. And the . . . company he would seek.

The only contribution Castiel made was the disapproving sound when he suggested taking Jack to Montreal for an ‘all-you-can-fuck-buffet’.

He was about the entreat Jack similarly when the room started shaking again.

*****

All he wanted was an afterlife free of Heaven’s bullshit and bureaucracy.

His cupped hands filled up with water and he splashed it up into his face. The cold water did nothing to curb his anxiety, but the shock did help his brain refocus.

“Sam?” Eileen called out through the closed door.

He took a moment to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack like it did throughout puberty and called back, “It’s open.”

The door clicked open softly. A hand gently brushed along his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he promised, eyes blinking open to stare at the stream of cold water. “Just tired.”

“Mm-hm, aren’t we all,” she hummed. “Amara isn’t responding. Jack’s been trying constantly.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, slapping the spigot. Jack was barely conscious, and he wasn’t curious to find out what would happen to the, well, everything, if _God_ was KO’ed. He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to do.

Breathe. Think.

. . .

He didn’t know what to do.

“What do we do?” he muttered in dejection. “Eileen, I don’t know how to get my brothers back.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Jack had an idea,” she ventured. He turned to face her, eyebrow quirking in question. Because if this was another hare-brained, self-sacrificing idea . . .

[Apparently, Amara has a wine club.]

He blinked. Not what he’d expected.

[And her newest pal? Crowley.]

Wait, what?

[Crowley?] he sighed, spine straightening out. [The guy who jumpstarted Cas’s revenge journey by tossing him the Arch grace?]

[I still think we should summon him. He’s helped you guys before.]

Sure. _Them_.

More like Dean.

He was ninety-percent sure Dean had been in some sort of supernatural love triangle with Cas and Crowley during the whole Mark of Cain era. Even though the only person who’d been blatantly obvious, to his utmost delight, was Crowley.

It was creepy, sure. But the look on Dean’s face.

And don’t even get him started on Cas’s bitchfits.

[What do the others think?] he asked.

[They don’t know yet. Jack told me. I’m coming to you.] she shrugged. [We trust your instinct here.]

He chewed on his lip. Anael and Balthazar were no match for an angel who’d been snacking on Jack’s grace. Gabriel was _out_. And he’d be damned if he let Jack flit off in their state.

They had no heavy hitters on their team. They needed Amara. Crowley was, he shuddered, the closest tie they had to her. It was already out of his hands.

He took a fortifying breath and nodded, [Do we have the supplies to summon him?]

Eileen quirked an eyebrow at him. [To summon the former King of Hell to Heaven?]

He paused. [Yes . . .?]

She smirked. [Of course we do.]

*****

“I was waiting on your call, winged galoots,” Crowley greeted them in all his smug glory and took a seat as though he owned the place.

Balthazar snarled at him. Anael looked supremely bored. Gabriel let out a snore from where he was cuddling a cushion on the couch.

“So . . . what’s this mess you’ve made that you need Daddy to fix?” he drawled, eyes sweeping around the room. They rested briefly on Jimmy before he smirked.

Sam cut his no-doubt-terrorizing comment off, “Cas and Dean are missing. Naomi has them. And John’s probably with them. Find them.”

Crowley goggled at him, pausing with a sip from the tumbler he seemed to be glued to.

“What?” Sam barked.

Balthazar sighed, gritting out, “ _Please_ find them.”

Sam stared at the angel, who looked like if physically hurt him to say that. It probably did.

“Ah, kids these days. So impatient, am I right?” Crowley entreated Jimmy again. “Well, what do I get in return?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Look, can we postpone the chit-chat until after you rescue Rocket and Groot from the clutches of a psycho angel hopped up on God-juice? Just summon me after. Name’s Anael.”

Huh.

This was either Jo’s hero-origin story or the start of something very, very dangerous.

“Enchanté,” Crowley waved a hand in her direction. Then he pointed at Jimmy, “You too, hot stuff.”

He disappeared with a waft of Sulphur.

Sam took a deep breath. Time to sit on his ass. Great.

“Dad, are you going to sleep with the King of Hell?” Claire snickered from where she was perched over the kitchen island. Next to her, Deanna was demolishing a disgusting bread-boat concoction with red stuff and yellow stuff and white stuff and brown stuff piled on it.

“I will ground you, Missy,” Jimmy hissed, face screwing up as though he was sucking on a lemon. A fermented lemon, even.

“To be fair, he’s probably going to sexually accost you at least three time in the future,” Charlie grinned, legs swinging as she perched on the armrest at Gabriel’s foot.

There was a stony silence.

Jimmy looked like he was debating between storming off or bursting into tears. Apparently, his quality time with Charlie had been less than pleasant. Given that Charlie had basically adopted Cas. And Jimmy wasn’t necessarily secretive of his dislike of the dude.

Yeah, she’d flayed him alive.

“Okay, look, can we do something for Jack? You guys?” Sam turned to the conscious angels. They shrugged in unison.

“Sing them a lullaby? Read a story? Run a bubble bath?” Balthazar suggested. “Not much else to do.”

Sam scowled at him. The angel was equally _done_ _with this shit_ as the rest of them. Problem was, that made him annoying. Annoying enough to claim that he’d apparently tossed a brainwashed angel in Timbuktu. For no discernable reason.

“I do have a copy of the Hobbit on that,” Charlie pointed to her laptop where it lay discarded. “So . . .” she jumped off her seat, snapping her fingers at Jimmy, “Chop, chop. You’re on foot-rub duty.”

Jimmy winced, but he made no protest, slinking off after her with his tail very much tucked between his legs.

“Dad!” “Sam!”

He turned back to the girls.

“Smoothie?” Deanna waved a takeout cup filled with lurid green liquid. Sam frowned. That looked vaguely . . . “It’s from Jeannie’s. Chilled to perfection. Just how you like it.”

Was he being managed?

[You should have a smoothie.] Eileen nodded gravely.

He was being managed.

What the hell. He couldn’t sit on his ass sipping a smoothie while his brothers were missing.

“Oh, yes!” Jo muttered. “And Balthazar and I will go . . . fly around Heaven.”

“Looking for clues,” Balthazar added haltingly, eyes sweeping nervously between him and Eileen. “Visit Timbuktu and see if it’s still standing.”

Sam frowned. “Wait, I thought,” wings flapped, “you guys couldn’t . . .”

Great.

“Dad,” Deanna called insistently. “Smoothie. I made it special for you.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at her. “No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t,” she grinned. “Come on. Blood sugar. Or whatever the dead equivalent is.”

He sighed in defeat. He was being managed.

And he was going to have a goddamn smoothie.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, antepenultimate chapter. Here we go. Sorry about the delays; my schedule's swamped. Who knew college was going to be work!
> 
> *laughing transitions to gross sobbing
> 
> Also, I'm definitely salty about the ending still. I may never recover. And writing the words 'smack dab' made me giggle like evil Tinkerbell.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update. Hallelujah! The writer's block finally wore off.
> 
> Final chapter coming soon (hopefully). 
> 
> All mistakes are mine because this is hella unbetaed.

He considered himself an angel who possessed fortitude. He’d been on the receiving end of the wrath of many a powerful being. He’d been maimed, he’d lost his wings, he’d had been shot and stabbed and possessed and killed. And yet, nothing sent anxiety coursing through his form quite like this.

Perhaps it was the expectation of peace, finally, eternally. A foolish expectation, perhaps, given his life. Perhaps it was the uncertainty, as the unfamiliar bound of power ran through his own grace as it shifted and tried to unite with Cassiel’s grace. Perhaps it was the potential of losing Dean Winchester, the potential of the most resplendent soul he’d ever set eyes on extinguishing.

Whatever it was, Naomi was making full use of her leverage. She was reveling in it.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, voice steadier than he felt. Her back was to them, and with her increased power she could shield her work well enough.

He was pinned to the wall across from her. Quite literally. Two prongs of celestial metal secured him to the wall, driven through the flesh of his wings – the old pair as well as the new. But Castiel was well-versed in ignoring the agony in his heavenly appendages . . . a fact Naomi had overlooked, on account of disappearing upon the Fall. His hands were shackled to the wall too, wit barely enough give to allow his to reach over. Over to Dean.

“I feel like you need to hum some creepy showtunes,” the human mused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Cas’s head rolled to the side, eyes ceaselessly running over his lover’s form. “Just to complete the picture of absolute psycho.” Dean looked unharmed. Unhurt, to his greatest relief. And characteristically antagonizing, against common sense. He turned to look at Castiel then, “Told you. You should’ve stabbed her the moment she showed her face again.”

His tone communicated mirth, but his gaze did anything but. Cas took a slow breath, trying to reassure silently. “Naomi has a way of forcing her way into a position of security.”

“Like a chicken?” Dean enquired, dramatically exaggerating. Cas felt a smile tick the corner of his mouth, despite himself. He turned to face Naomi’s back, “Exactly, Dean. Like a chicken.”

Her fragile ego being a sore spot, she turned to face them at last. “Better than being the weak link.” She sauntered closer to them and watched them, simply. “You and the half-whelp would have us work to serve humanity. Us. Heaven.”

He knew there was nothing to convince her otherwise. Naomi was not like Hannah, Gabriel, Anna or the multifarious angels who’d come to love and respect humanity with all its flaws. At least humans admitted to their flaws, unlike the beings of Heaven who were entrenched in hubris and single-mindedness.

“Even when it was our Father’s _will_ , Castiel! These,” she spat in Dean’s direction, “were _meant_ to be mere playthings. We were right, and you were wrong.”

“Chuck was wrong, and he is no longer our Father. Our leader is Jack. Someone who truly aims to do good. For all.”

“ _Jack_ would have us be more ‘human’,” she scoffed. “Our powers have been leeched from us, our _Father_ was stolen from us by this ape and his brother, and the lines have been blurred. And you,” she took a step closer to him and he straightened up, ignoring the twinge as his wounds spasmed. “You . . .” she shook her head, laughing. “Well, I don’t have to tell you your sins. Look how far you’ve fallen. Just as I’d predicted. Just what I’d tried to prevent.”

She had turned to Dean now and Cas bristled. Dean narrowed her eyes at her defiantly. His soul pulsed, awash with such love and faith for Castiel that he shivered. “Lady, from where I’m standing, I see a power-whore whining about her demotion. And nothing else. Whatever delusions you’ve got about yourself are . . . well, delusions.”

As much as he loved Dean’s brazen behavior, his heart still caught in his throat. With a snap, Naomi could disintegrate the soul chained to the wall beside himself. He’d be powerless. Not for the first time, he pleaded with the warring fragments of grace within himself to unite.

But Naomi merely smirked, taking two steps back and away. Cas swallowed, heart thundering in his ears. She looked at him with poorly concealed, petty triumph. “Don’t worry, Castiel. I’d rather fix this mess in one go. I’m not going to bother with your favorite gnat, in the meantime.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked carefully. His eyes snapped back to the raised slab she had been working on. He concentrated, but her power was still too great. The surface looked bereft to him.

“Oh, will you be monologuing about your evil plans, now?” Dean scoffed, twisting his wrist and jerking against the right cuff. Cas’s own hand jumped involuntarily, trying fruitlessly to make contact.

Naomi laughed, “No, Castiel. You think I haven’t learned my lesson from a million pop cultural villains? No, I have a much better use of our time in mind.”

Castiel didn’t even have a chance to draw in a fortifying breath before he felt the first wave of excruciating pain. Right under his human heart. He screamed as much as he could with no breath in his lungs.

He choked on a gasp. He could barely make out Dean spewing vitriol at Naomi.

“These are forged from Raphael’s blade,” Naomi was crowing. “An errant, broken toy in trade for the rightful leaders of Heaven. Quite the bargain, don’t you think?”

She turned on her heel, marching back to the bench. Cas could feel Cassiel’s grace shuddering inside him, at the edge of snuffing out. His vision felt blurred, his hearing dimmed. He knew Dean was trying to get his attention, of course. But it was difficult to make his body cooperate enough to comply.

He made a pained noise in frustration and Naomi laughed, maniacally and without abandon. “Yes, Castiel. Oh, this is the sweetest symphony to my ear. And if I was a lesser being, I would draw this out. Just to hear those screams.”

There was a flare, as a match was struck. A common summoning.

“Oh, kitten,” someone crooned behind Naomi. Even through the blood pumping in his ears, Cas recognized that voice. A sudden burst of adrenaline shot through him and his senses cleared. His head jerked up. “I see you started without me,” Crowley smirked.

*****

Jack felt like they were underwater, unable to swim, unable to even float up to the surface. And the lack of air of course didn’t bother, but it was disorienting all the same. Charlie and Jimmy Novak had sat with him for a while. Jimmy, still awkwardly puzzling where he fit in the household, had perched by the window.

Charlie had wiggled a worn book at them and then, inexplicably, started reading.

Jack had stared at her before settling into the guest bed. Her voice was nice, low and soothing. They let themselves fall asleep, and it didn’t feel as difficult as it had as a human.

When they woke up, the humans were gone, but they could sense that they weren’t alone in the room. They turned, wincing at the dull ache across their body.

“Oh,” Anael whispered. “You’re awake.”

“I am,” they agreed. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

She couldn’t hide herself from them, but she tried nonetheless, laughing in a carefree manner. “Just drew the short straw, kid.” Her being pulsed with uncertainty and concern and embarrassment.

They smiled indulgently, letting it go. Living with Dean Winchester taught one to pick and choose their battles. The thought sobered them, because Dean and Cas were missing. They turned to Anael in silent question. The wave of despair that wafted from her answered their question.

Their own anxiety sought to overwhelm their sanity and they pushed it down, trying to take inventory. Naomi’s methodical extraction of their power had been thorough, however. They couldn’t feel the presence of beings beyond Dean and Cas’s house.

Feeling absurdly small and powerless, Jack curled on their side.

*****

‘Crowley,’ Cas tried to say. But there was no breath left in him. Dean took the baton from him and exclaimed, “Crowley, you bastard!”

“Ah, yes. The dramatic reveal sequence. I imagine our audience is quite shocked and dismayed at this point,” Crowley bowed to an imaginary audience.

“Silence, demon,” Naomi snapped. “I’d rather not waste time and lose now. I can taste the victory.”

“Of course you can,” Crowley droned, feigning boredom. Cas blinked the blurry sheen threatening to overwhelm his vision. When he focused again, it was evident he’d missed something.

“So, darling. You can go on and continue the torture. I, however, do appreciate some foreplay. As I’m sure you recall,” Crowley was monologuing. Castiel blinked. _Crowley and Naomi?_

Beside him, Dean gagged. Cas had a feeling it wasn’t even exaggeration. Struck by realization, he immediately wished for the loss of consciousness, worried the demon would elaborate.

“Well, Mr. and Mr. OTP,” He’d turned his attention to the trapped. “I’m sure you’re curious as to how I switched teams.”

He really wasn’t. And as much as he didn’t care, a part of him wanted to ask Dean what O-T-P meant.

“My lovely bedfellow here,” he grinned as Naomi paused in her forage for what looked to be an arcane and complex summoning, and affixed him with a glare. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he amended. “My _partner_ here, summoned me from the depths of Hell. My soft, darling mother had me hidden there, you see, after having pulled me out of my state of eternal slumber. And in return, she decided Hell’s throne would be fine payment.”

Naomi was holding up a loose sheet of yellowed paper. An incantation _._

“And I was quite happy to let her have it. Hell, the simpering demon-kind, the whores, everything. Of course, she was certain I’d never give up, so she trapped me into a cage, not unlike the late Morningstar’s. Albeit, this one was quite cozy and grandiose.”

She started mumbling the incantation, eyes rolling up till only the whites showed.

“The only purpose that little trickery served was to anger me. So I bade my time.”

“I’d much prefer if you start collecting the blood while I prepare for the next part,” Naomi growled.

Cas felt his heart stutter and his head whipped to Dean. Dean had been watching him, eyes brimming with carefully controlled desperation. “No,” he managed to rasp. “Crowley, don’t hurt him.”

“Cas,” Dean called. “I’ll be okay. Hold on for me, okay?”

Did Dean not _realize_ he was trying?

“Sorry, love, I don’t get my hands dirty. And don’t interrupt my masterful narration, please,” Crowley said to Naomi, ignoring them. “Where were we? Ah yes, the spark of resentment. Well, when Amara rescued me, I grabbed it for the golden opportunity it was. I caught wind of the daeva invasion, traced the call back to the source.” He gestured to Naomi.

“How?” Cas rasped, trying not to let the burn behind his eyes manifest as tears.

“I’m Crowley. I’m sure you recall that I was the most resourceful of our little bandwagon,” he approached Castiel, leaning down. “You, of course, were useless.”

Next to him, Dean growled lowly in his throat.

Cas forced out, “A snake is always a snake. Isn’t that right? And to think we believed you had changed.”

“Oh, Feathers,” a hand clapped upon his shoulder, cold and dead. “That was just a lapse in judgement. If anything, that little stint on the right side showed me how truly awful being the good guy is.”

And then Cas felt his head drop. He was tired.

“Cas,” Dean called to him insistently. “If you force me to sit through Crowley’s monologue alone, I’m never putting out again.” That made his laugh a little, even though the action was punctuated by the warmth of blood pooling in and spilling out of his mouth.

“I’m not averse to a threesome, no that you mention it, Squirrel,” the demon mused. His putrid aura approached Castiel and he flinched as a finger prodded at his cheek, forcing his head to the side and away from everyone else’s view.

And then he convulsed in agony as the blade was removed from his body. He awaited the fuzzy sensation that signaled unconsciousness resulting from blood loss. Imagine his surprise when he felt the slowing beat of his heart speed up minutely. Air slithered into his lungs and he gasped, trying to choke it in faster.

Naomi, of course, took it for deterioration and chuckled wildly.

“You know what, kitten?” Crowley was saying. “I change my mind. Allow me.”

Cas’s head snapped back to see Crowley . . . effortlessly impale Naomi’s throat with the blade he’d liberated. She didn’t see it coming. She gurgled a little, body stiffening as the she slumped to the ground. The gurgling noises being cut off when Crowley’s boot crushed her throat.

Then the air was filled with the ringing of grace exploding. When the blast of light died, Cas tried to get his bearings.

“See, there’s the beauty to the villain monologue. It thoroughly distracts all parties involved. Oh, quit gaping,” he barked. “I’m just waiting for my _real_ partner.”

Then he felt a warm hand, much slender than Crowley’s, cup the side of his head.

And he was whole again.

Amara smiled at him. “Hello, Castiel.”

Cas couldn’t articulate much. Dean exhaled in relief next to him, thanking her profusely as she freed him. As Dean lunged to him and sealed their lips in a bruising kiss, his own gaze shot to the Darkness and the demon. Both looked thoroughly entertained.

Well, Crowley looked something else, but Cas would rather not examine that too closely.

“What the shit, Crowley?” Dean demanded as he ripped away, hands working at the shackles that bound Cas. His wings were free and whole, and as he was liberated, he tested them out. Their lightness and the lack of mind-numbing pain made them feel disjointed.

Crowley grasped his arm, hauling him up. “You wound me, old friend. Do you really think I’d switch sides so selfishly.”

“Crowley, everything you do is selfish,” Cas grumbled. “Couldn’t you have done that before she rid me of two pints of blood?”

“Two pints?” Dean exclaimed. Then he paused. “Wait, do you even need blood?”

Cas opened his mouth to contest that even though he didn’t ‘need’ the blood, he much preferred not having to rapidly generate more. But Amara interrupted them with a sharp, “Boys. Let’s get you home. We still have some loose ends to tie.” He looked at her askance. What loose ends? John Winchester?

“Supernatural groupies of Dean Winchester, ahoy,” Crowley snickered.

Dean was still spluttering in indignation when Cas put his arm on him and took flight.

*****

Claire wrapped them in fierce hugs the moment they touched ground. Dean made a valiant effort to deal with the aftereffects of Angel Express. He was _not_ puking down the kid’s back.

Of course, when Sam the Giant tried to smother them both, it got difficult.

“Gonna hurl,” he warned, and his brother let them go. Dean took a deep breath. His hand was clutching tightly to Cas’s and he didn’t care who saw. The waves of panic that’s been drowning him were calming, but the feel of the warm palm in his own made them go away a little faster.

“What, no hug for the cavalry?” Crowley pouted. He turned to Jimmy, who’d surprisingly hung around. The man had been sneaking a cigarette behind the house when the four of them had landed, two feet from him. He’d yelped, crashing into Castiel. It had been hilarious, but you had to be there. “Cas-two, hug me.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, looking at Sam. Sam merely shrugged in response before mouthing ‘consolation prize’ over Cas’s head.

“Eat me,” Jimmy shot back. He turned to the rest of them, eyes lingering on where Claire had thrown an arm around Cas again. He nodded, and almost nervously asked, “I’ll see you at home, honey?”

“’Course,” she responded easily. “Kaia wants to try your pot roast, for some reason.”

Man didn’t even try to defend his honor. Just nodded vigorously in obvious relief and then stomped off, disappearing into the house. Dean turned to the rest of the gathered crew, suddenly at a loss for words. Honestly, he just wanted his bed and his angel and his bed. It was fucked up, considering he couldn’t even get tired anymore. Technically.

Right?

“Thank you,” Cas finally said, though he kept his gaze oriented firmly towards Amara. Dean couldn’t blame him. Part of him wanted to set Crowley’s tailored suit on fire.

At least it wasn’t beachwear anymore.

Sam shot him an amused look and he shrugged. He knew he had to regale the whole tale. But if Sam came between him and his nap, he would hand Deanna some Nair.

“Okay, great,” he declared as the conversation came to an awkward pause again. Cas was a charming conversationalist, after all. He grabbed Cas by the arm and tugged him gently. “DND, GTG.”

Sam made a gagging noise. His angel just looked annoyed and confused. Like a bird about to fuck some shit up. God, Dean loved the shit out of the guy. He led him back to their room, intent on conveying just that.

*****

“. . . several new constellations,” someone was saying. Dean blinked back to the land of the living. His vision was filled with the white expanse of Cas’s borrowed t-shirt.

“Mmph,” he complained to it. The conversation ceased, and he closed his eyes, burrowing into Cas’s warmth. A hand carded over his head. It felt nice. “Who’sit.”

“It’s me. Jack,” the kid responded. He sighed deeply. “Did we wake you?”

“No,” he garbled, because he’d rather not deal with puppy-eyed Gods. “Go back t’. Starzzz . . .”

His warm, firm pillow vibrated as its asshole owner laughed at Dean. He reached up to pinch a nipple in retaliation. The fucker didn’t react. “Jack was telling me that they’ve immortalized Samandriel and Israel as constellations. Among the stars.”

That drew his attention. He sat up a little, pulling away from Cas. He watched the angel carefully as he asked, “So . . . they’re still, like, gone?”

Jack dipped their head mournfully, “There wasn’t enough of them left. I just wanted to keep them out of the Empty.”

“Oh,” he said. Because there wasn’t much to add. Cas’s face was carefully neutral. “So, how’re you feeling?”

“I’m still weak,” Jack answered, visibly relieved at the change of topic.

“I told Jack you’d cook us your burgers when you woke up,” Cas added. Dean turned to him incredulously. “Now, before you start, remember. I was stabbed. You have to be nice.” His mouth fell open. The gall. If Jack wasn’t in their room, he’d tackle the little shit and _show_ _him_ _nice_. His gaze flitted back to the kid in question and he faltered. Okay, yeah. The two had been having a rough go of it. “Fine,” he sighed in defeat. “But I gotta brush my teeth. Mouth tastes like ass.”

“of course,” Cas said innocently. Dean narrowed his eyes at him and just to be a jerk, crossed him as he got off the bed. Onboard with the one-upmanship, Cas stilled him and pecked him on the mouth. “Though it tastes just fine to me.”

Dean felt his face turn hot, and he muttered some lame comeback as he scurried out of the room. He zipped to the kitchen.

“Dude, where’s the fire?” Sam laughed. Dean spun to face the den. Sam was lounging across one of the couches. His feet were hanging off one end. Typical.

“Burgers,” Dean snapped, belatedly recalling his plan. “Gonna go freshen up first.” He set his jaw and hid behind the kitchen island. Sam watched him carefully.

“You’re in the kitchen.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will feed you coal.”

“Mm-hm,” his brother shoved off the bed and sauntered over to the fridge. “Gonna tell me what the fuck happened or should I initiate a heart-to-heart?”

Dean tossed some buns at him, “Slice 'em. Then we’ll see.”

*****


End file.
